


Powdered Sugar

by Eyela



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate universe - Mafia, Background Yungi, Drug Dealing, Guns, M/M, Misunderstandings, No beta we die like mne, Polyamory, References to Drugs, Some Violence in later chapters, also i'm like 99 percent sure this isn't how police investigations work either, background seongjoong - Freeform, baker!Wooyoung, barista!Yeosang, but whatever no one's here for the realism, detective!San, established woosang, highly unrealistic depiction of mafia lmao, lots of flirting, no actual usage of said drugs though, some dubious morality, tattooist!Hongjoong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyela/pseuds/Eyela
Summary: Coffeeshop AU with a twist!Detective Choi San is tasked with investigating the Pirate King Tattoo Parlour, which his boss suspects is a front for mafia dealings. San plans to use the small café next door as a discrete observation point for any suspicious activity over the next couple of weeks. What hedoesn’tplan on is becoming enamoured with the lively and attractive baker, Wooyoung, and the beautiful barista, Yeosang. San tries to stay professional, but as harmless flirting turns into something more, and tensions are mounting between rival gangs, he worries that his investigation may cause the charming little coffeeshop to be caught in the crossfire.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 62
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that these are just characters _inspired_ by the idols, rather than any attempt at actually depicting their real-life personalities and relationships.

San stood on the pavement, hands in his pockets, staring down the exterior of the Pirate King Tattoo Parlour. The whole storefront was heavily pirate-themed, from the majestic ship on the sign, to the skull and crossbones flag hanging in the window, to the golden compass design painted on the door.

That compass was the reason San was here.

The police department San worked for had been tracking mafia-related drug dealings in the city for the past several months, particularly by the KQ group, and their latest breakthrough had led them here, to Horizon Street and its surrounding laneways. The Chief Inspector was convinced that somewhere in this area was _some_ type of link in the chain – an exchange point or a storage place or something – and it was likely hidden behind one of the small, innocent-looking businesses.

KQ’s symbol was a compass. Their main turf had compasses spray-painted on the alleyways as a warning to other groups, crime scenes they wanted to leave their mark on had drawings of compasses left behind, and members each had a compass tattooed on their shoulder.

It didn’t take a genius to join the dots.

All they needed now was adequate evidence of suspicion to get a search warrant approved for the tattoo parlour. Which was where San came in. His job was to look for clues.

KQ was notoriously vigilant, which meant the police couldn’t risk anything as obvious as a 24 hour stakeout. Instead, San was to find a more discrete and casual way to observe the store regularly over the next few weeks, looking for any signs of suspicious activity. Heavy deliveries, shady-looking people, any hint of guns, drugs, or large cash payments, anything which could help prove the boss’s theory that the tattoo parlour was just a front for mafia dealings. 

It was San’s first undercover job, and he was determined to do well.

Horizon Street was in a quieter part of town, but there were still enough people around that he didn’t stick out. Others threw interested glances at the tattoo parlour’s window as they passed as well – and no wonder, considering how it was decorated. However, San had already inspected all the pirate-themed décor and read all the signs and posters in the window twice already. He needed some other excuse to be hanging around, before he started attracting unwanted attention.

And that was when his eye fell on the café next door.

The Black Cat Bakery was a sharp contrast to the Pirate King. It was a quaint-looking building, with potted plants flowering outside and an old-fashioned wooden door painted lilac.

And the best part – either side of the door was a window seat which jutted forwards into the street, offering a perfect, direct line of vision to the tattoo parlour’s entrance. His mind made up, San turned on his heel and headed inside.

The bell above the door tinkled as he pushed it open, and he scanned the interior of the café as he made his way up to the counter. Like the street outside, it was fairly quiet. A few customers were scattered around the tables chatting, and faint music was drifting out from behind a swing door San assumed led to the kitchen. 

A man stood behind the counter with his back to the door, cleaning the coffee machine, but he turned around at the noise of the bell.

Their eyes met, and despite all his training, San nearly tripped over his own feet.

The man in front of him was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. His white-blond hair was caught back in a small ponytail, framing a face that was perfect, like a that of a sculpture.

“Hello, welcome to the Black Cat,” he said, and _oh_ , his voice was deeper than San was expecting, making his heart flutter.

It was an effort to drag his eyes away to look at the menu behind the man’s head, but he managed, and ordered an americano after a moment’s consideration.

“Sure, it’ll be out in a minute,” said the beautiful man, flashing a small smile, and San thanked him and scurried off to the window seat to let his heart recover.

The window nook was cosy, and San settled comfortably into one of the chairs and pulled his laptop from his messenger bag. Of course, he couldn’t do anything too obviously police-related in public, especially when he was keeping a low profile, but going over last week’s reports was harmless enough.

The barista made his coffee impressively quickly and brought it over, setting it on the table with another small smile. This time around, San had the presence of mind to notice the cat-shaped badge attached to his apron which read ‘Yeosang’. He filed that information away and thanked him, smiling in return.

As expected, the seat offered a clear view of the tattoo parlour, and San was careful to keep an eye on it as he worked. He made a careful note of how many people entered the shop, and how long they spent in there. This wasn’t a very exciting task – tattoo parlours weren’t usually the sort of place to be buzzing with customers, even in busier locations than this.

An hour passed, then two. San ordered another coffee after a while, feeling a little guilty for loitering otherwise, even if there were plenty of spare tables. Other customers came and went at a slow trickle. A young couple thanked Yeosang cheerfully on the way out. An older woman strode in and ordered a coffee and a cake “and make it snappy!” in a way that made San bristle on Yeosang’s behalf, but the barista took it in his stride. The woman settled on the table next to San’s. Not long after, the two old men on the far table finished their crossword and got up to leave, nodding politely on their way out. San and the woman were now the only customers, and a silence fell across the café.

This silence was broken only a few moments later, however, when the kitchen doors swung open and another young man in an apron burst in.

“Done!” he announced, to no one in particular.

San froze with his coffee cup halfway to his lips because _dear god_ , did this café specifically hire models or something?

The newcomer had bright eyes and a sharp jawline, black hair pulled into a bun and held back with a headband. He moved with an easy confidence that immediately drew San in as he walked up to the counter and prodded Yeosang in the side.

“How’s it going out here, Sangie?” he asked.

Yeosang shrugged and gestured vaguely at the near-empty tables.

“Quiet,” he said. “You finished clearing up back there?”

When the newcomer nodded, Yeosang set the other customer’s order down on the bench.

“You can make yourself useful then. Take these over to table 4, would you?”

He picked up a cloth and spray bottle from under the counter while he spoke, and then set off to clean the back tables without waiting for a reply. The other man pouted, which was stupidly attractive, but gathered up the items and headed over to deliver them, big customer-service smile already in place by the time he turned around.

San quickly let his gaze slide away, so he wasn’t caught staring. He looked back out the window, and cursed internally when he realised someone else had appeared outside and was reading the posters in the tattoo parlour window. Chastising himself for being so easily distracted by a new pretty face, San got ready to note down another customer for the parlour. However, it seemed the man outside was only interested in the posters after all, because after another minute he turned and went on his way, without setting foot inside. San sighed frustratedly.

The noise of fingers clicking drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings, where the woman next to him was impatiently trying to summon one of the staff. San felt his hackles raise at the rude behaviour. Yeosang was still busy cleaning the back tables, so the dark-haired man made his way over again.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

The woman pointed at her plate disdainfully.

“This has pear in it!” she said.

The man blinked, confused.

“Uh… yep! It sure does!” he agreed, smiling uncertainly.

The woman huffed irritably and folded her arms, as if annoyed that she had to explain further.

“I can’t eat pear,” she said. “I want a refund.”

The man’s smile became even more strained.

“A… refund,” he repeated. “Because of the pear. Right. Uh… if you don’t mind me asking, did you check the ingredients before ordering?”

“I shouldn’t have to! These things should be made clear by the staff!”

The man puffed his cheeks and let out a huff of air, looking bewildered. 

“I mean,” he said after a moment, “the thing about ordering a fruit tart is that they tend to have fruit in them.”

San let out a surprised laugh, which he quickly turned into a quiet cough, trying not to draw attention. The man’s eyes flickered over to him and crinkled briefly with mirth. The woman seemed not to notice, still glaring at the waiter, not nearly so amused as San had been.

“Don’t get smart with me, young man!” she snapped.

The waiter sighed, clearly running out of patience.

“Look,” he said flatly, “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the tart, ma’am, but I’m afraid we can’t give you a refund just for that.”

The woman drew herself up furiously and looked around the café. Spotting Yeosang in the corner, she snapped her fingers again.

“You!” she called. “Come here!”

Yeosang glanced up, then hurried over.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” he asked, glancing between the customer and his co-worker.

“Would you please be so kind as to fetch your manager?” she said imperiously. “I want to make a complaint about the rude service I’m receiving.”

Yeosang bowed politely. “I’m sorry to hear that ma’am,” he said, “I’ll see if the manager’s free right now.”

He straightened, then pivoted smartly to face his co-worker.

“Are you free right now, Wooyoung-ssi?” he deadpanned. “There’s a customer here who wants to speak with you.”

The other man, Wooyoung, wasn’t as good at Yeosang at keeping a straight face, but he made a valiant effort as he replied “Why certainly!” and turned back to the furious woman.

“How can I help you?”

By now San, delighted by the exchange, was having trouble containing his giggling. Luckily, the woman was facing away from him so she didn’t see, but Wooyoung caught his eye and winked, his cheeky grin making San laugh even more. 

Then suddenly the woman was on her feet.

“Now you listen here, you disrespectful brat!”

At this, San automatically jumped to his feet as well. It was one thing to be rude and demanding, but now the woman was getting right up into Wooyoung’s space, flecks of spit flying into his face and one finger jabbing forcefully into his chest.

“This is a disgrace! You should be ashamed of yourselves, treating your customers this way! I’ve a good mind to…”

San put a hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly drawing her away from Wooyoung.

“Ma’am,” he said calmly, “That’s enough. You’re only embarrassing yourself. I think you should probably leave.”

The woman broke off and stared at him, flabbergasted. San kept his face impassive as she looked between him and the two staff, both of whom now had their arms folded and wore identical unimpressed expressions. Eventually, the woman seemed to realise that she wasn’t going to win, and deflated.

“I… _well_ ,” she blustered, shrugging off San’s hand and snatching up her bag, “You’ve lost yourself a customer today, that’s for certain! I won’t be coming back!”

With that, she marched out of the café. The bell rang as she slammed the door behind her, and then the shop was plunged back into silence.

“…And that is precisely why we take payment _before_ serving.”

Yeosang’s flat voice broke the silence, and Wooyoung let out a shriek of laughter. San joined in, partly because of Yeosang’s comment, partly because of Wooyoung’s laugh, and partly because of how bizarre the whole situation was. Soon all three were laughing together, the tense atmosphere evaporating.

Wooyoung turned to San with a beaming smile.

“Sorry you had to be there for that,” he said, “But thanks for stepping in.”

San scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious.

“Oh, er, it was nothing,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sure you two would have managed fine without me.”

“Oh yeah, we had it covered,” agreed Wooyoung easily, “But you made her leave in half the time it usually takes with customers like that. She wasn’t expecting you to back us up!”

Yeosang chuckled quietly and nodded.

“We appreciate it,” he said.

Having not one but two incredibly attractive people smiling and thanking him made San blush. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious, but the way Wooyoung’s grin widened meant he probably wasn’t in luck there.

The pair gathered up the woman’s leftovers and carried them back to the counter, where Yeosang piled them onto a tray and took them out the back into the kitchen. Glancing at his watch, San decided it was probably time he left. He’d done enough for now – scoped out the site, found an observation point, and begun his surveillance. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions by staying overly long on the first day.

He ducked back to his seat to gather his things, closing his laptop and stowing it in his messenger bag.

“I don’t believe we’ve seen you before,” said Wooyoung, leaning forward to rest his folded arms on the countertop.

“I’m new to the area,” San replied as he got to his feet, which was true, even if it was a little misleading.

“Ah, that makes sense,” said Wooyoung, looking San up and down unabashedly. “I would’ve remembered seeing a face like yours around.”

San halted, unprepared for the compliment, and blinked stupidly as he tried to think of something to say and came up blank. Thankfully, Wooyoung didn’t seem to be expecting a response anyway.

“Well, unlike a _certain_ customer,” he continued, nodded pointedly at the door, “You’re very welcome to come back anytime. I hope we’ll see you again!”

His smile would have had San running back within a week, even if the detective hadn’t already decided the café was a perfect base for his observation work. 

“Well, unlike a certain customer, I thought the service was _excellent_ ,” said San, finally finding his words again and giving Wooyoung his most charming smile. “So I’ll likely take you up on that.”

Wooyoung laughed again as he waved San goodbye, and as the detective exited the café, he found himself feeling a little giddy, walking with a spring in his step.

He was starting to have a good feeling about this assignment. 


	2. Chapter 2

San forced himself to wait two days before returning to the Black Cat Bakery. He couldn’t establish himself as a presence in the area too suddenly and risk standing out, and no amount of café workers with cute smiles could change police procedure. The two days spent back at the precinct had been tedious in the extreme, slogging through paperwork that _technically_ was his boss’s responsibility rather than his, but as the newest recruit in the team, San wasn’t in a place to complain. He’d just put his head down and stuck it out until he could get back in the field.

He’d found himself choosing his outfit with more care before setting out this time, wanting to look good, and then immediately felt silly for doing so. He was doing this for work, what did it matter if a couple of cute people noticed him or not? Yeosang and Wooyoung might not even be working today. And even if they were, they might not remember him.

Still, here he was, standing outside the café in his best jeans, hesitating on the doorstep. Scolding himself for overthinking, San shook himself and went inside, bell jingling as he passed through the door.

His concerns were instantly dispelled as he spotted Yeosang, who looked up and smiled at his approach.

“Oh, hello again!”

San smiled in return, ignoring the little skip his heart gave at being recognised, and ordered a coffee.

“Had any more awful customers since I last saw you?” asked San jokingly as he paid.

Yeosang chuckled and shook his head.

“No, we don’t get people like that often, thankfully. You just got lucky.”

The window seat was free again, and San took up his place at the small table, pulling out his laptop and booting it up. The street was almost empty this morning, so he wasn’t expecting to see an awful lot. However, every little detail could potentially offer a clue, so he watched the storefront as carefully as he could while also pretending to be checking his emails.

He didn’t have to wait long, however, before someone exited the tattoo parlour and began making their way towards the Black Cat. It was a small man with bright blue hair and a purposeful stride. San turned discretely in his seat so he could keep watching the man as he entered the café. 

“Hongjoong-hyung!” called Yeosang in greeting. “The usual?”

San immediately sat up straighter, those few words having told him a lot. According to his briefing, Kim Hongjoong was the name of the owner of Pirate King, making the man before him one of the biggest suspects in the whole investigation. Not only that, but Yeosang seemed to be on quite friendly terms with him, implying that he stopped by the café fairly regularly.

“Yes thanks, Yeosang,” said Hongjoong, smiling widely. “How are you going?”

“Oh, been worse,” said the barista with a shrug as he set about making the coffee.

The two chatted while the machine whirred, mostly discussing rumours that the laundromat across the road was considering repainting despite their landlord being against the idea. San looked the man over surreptitiously while the pair continued to gossip, committing his appearance to memory. He had a distinctive face, bright and sharp-featured, and when he handed over his card to pay, San noticed his nails were painted.

He resolved to ask Yeosang about Hongjoong once the tattooist had left. He hadn’t imagined that the café could offer him intelligence in more ways than one, but if the barista was friends with his prime suspect, he might be able to find out some extra information.

However, just as Hongjoong collected his takeaway cup and turned to leave, some other customers stepped through the door and Yeosang turned his attention to them. San cursed internally, knowing that his opening was gone for now. A casual ‘oh, does that guy work next door?’ in the moment would be natural and unremarkable. Asking the same question some fifteen minutes later, implying that he’d been thinking about the blue-haired man for all that time, would not. 

Lamenting his missed opportunity, but nonetheless pleased that he’d sighted the shop’s owner already, San noted down what he’d learned and returned to his surveillance.

Like last time, the café never quite filled up, the atmosphere remaining easy and peaceful. A couple of elderly women who’d been doing a magazine quiz together in the corner finished up and left with calls of thanks to Yeosang, who nodded and waved. A university student took their place, immediately plugging in a large set of headphones and burying themselves in a stack of textbooks once their coffee and cake arrived. Other than that, San was currently the only customer. Just as he was considering asking for another coffee, the kitchen doors swung open and Wooyoung waltzed out, bearing a huge tray of delicious-looking pastries. 

“Freshly baked!” he announced to the room at large.

Yeosang hummed.

“’kay, good,” he said. “We were starting to run low. Bring them over here, would you?”

Wooyoung looked around at the near-empty tables and sighed, evidently having hoped for a little more of a reaction. His eyes skimmed over the unresponsive student, still deep in their books, and then lit up when he noticed San.

“Yeosangie!” he exclaimed loudly, balancing the tray easily on one hip and using his free hand to slap his co-worker’s arm admonishingly, “Why didn’t you mention the cute guy came back?”

San abruptly inhaled some of his own spit and had to duck down behind his computer screen to cough harshly for a moment. 

“ _Wooyoung_ ,” he heard Yeosang hiss as he re-emerged, and was surprised to see that the barista had gone almost as red as San had.

Wooyoung, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease as he sauntered over to San’s table and plopped down in the opposite seat.

“Cinnamon roll?” He offered the tray invitingly. “Go on, it’s on the house! As a thank-you for last time.”

He batted his eyelashes and San scrambled to get his brain working again, to say something which wasn’t just ‘you think I’m cute?’.

“Oh! You don’t have to repay me for that!” he managed. “That’s not why I did it.”

Wooyoung pouted.

“I want to though! If you don’t like cinnamon rolls, you can just say.”

“No, no,” said San hurriedly, “They look delicious! Cinnamon’s one of my favourite flavours, actually.”

Wooyoung beamed and held the tray forward again.

“No excuses then!” he declared. “Take one!”

Relenting, San reached over and picked one out. It was still warm from the oven, and smelled heavenly. Wooyoung was nearly bouncing in his seat, clearly impatient for San to taste it, which would have been obnoxious if it wasn’t so damn cute.

San took a bite and chewed slowly, under Wooyoung’s expectant gaze. Then he frowned. 

“Hang on,” he said.

He looked up at Wooyoung, whose brows had drawn together in concern at San’s expression.

“Is something wrong?”

San held up the roll and made a show of squinted suspiciously at it.

“Is there pear in this?”

Wooyoung blinked at him for a second, lost, then realisation dawned on his face that San was imitating the lady from his previous visit, and he let out a bubble of high-pitched laughter.

“You jerk!” he cried, leaning over the table to shove San’s shoulder lightly. “You had me worried for a second!”

“Serves you right for practically forcing it down his throat,” called Yeosang flatly from behind the counter, earning another indignant noise from Wooyoung.

“Sorry, sorry,” said San through his laughter. “I couldn’t resist! Seriously though, this is delicious. Best cinnamon roll I’ve ever tasted!”

And it was. San didn’t usually bother with sweets to go with his coffee, but if everything Wooyoung made was as good as this, maybe he’d have to start.

Satisfied with the praise, Wooyoung sat back in his chair.

“Thank you!” Then he smirked. “What’s next, going to ask to see a manager?”

“As if I could forget who the manager is after your little routine last time!” teased San. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he added “Which is actually pretty impressive, you being a manager at our age, I have to say.”

“Ah,” Wooyoung waved a hand dismissively, “It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, Yeosang and I co-own the café, and there’re no other employees. We don’t really call ourselves ‘managers’ unless someone’s demanding to see one, and then we just say it’s whoever they were being rudest to.”

“Oh, ok,” said San, chuckling. “So, it’s just the two of you here?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re closed a couple of days a week.”

San had noticed the sign on the door that said as much, thinking it a little odd at the time. It made more sense now though, if the entire staff consisted of only two people.

“You must both work very hard,” he said. “You haven’t considered taking on anyone else?”

“Not really. I don’t think we’d trust anyone else with the place. Also, we live up there,” Wooyoung gestured vaguely to the ceiling, “So when it’s our day off, we like the peace, you know?”

“Ah,” said San, “Fair enough.”

He hadn’t given much thought to the little apartment above the shop which was visible from the street outside. It was interesting to know that Yeosang and Wooyoung shared it – it was very obvious that the two were friends, but he hadn’t realised they were so close.

They chatted for a little longer before a gaggle of school students entered the bakery. Wooyoung jumped to his feet with an apology to San, and hurriedly took the tray of cinnamon rolls back to the counter to unload into the display case. Yeosang and Wooyoung quickly got to work making takeaway hot chocolates and loading multiple donuts into paper bags.

San glanced at his watch. He’d stayed longer than he’d meant to. Even fewer people had been inside the tattoo parlour today, with no repeat visits from the people he’d observed last time. He’d had his first sighting of their prime suspect though, and a new possible lead to pursue given that Yeosang seemed to know him, and that made up for the lack of other information.

San packed up his things, and with a last wave at the two café workers, left to head home.

That night, typing up his report to send through to his boss, San thought about Wooyoung. Thought about his smile. Thought about his laugh. Thought about the irrepressible confidence and attitude he carried himself with.

…Thought about how he should be thinking about his work right now instead of the cute baker.

Why was Wooyoung refusing to leave his head right now?

San was no stranger to being flirted with, no stranger to trading quips and compliments, although it wasn’t usually something he’d initiate. This wasn’t like normal. Talking to Wooyoung was a contradiction, simultaneously comfortable and easy, but electric and exciting. It was addictive.

Did the other man feel the same way, or was he this chatty to every customer he took an interest in? Wooyoung didn’t _have_ to go over and talk to San, but he also didn’t seem to have anything more interesting to do, while the bakery was in a lull. Was it genuine interest, or was San just a way to pass the time?

…Wait. Was _San_ genuinely interested?

San frowned and halted in his typing. He’d only spoken with the man twice. Did he actually want to try dating Wooyoung?

He thought back over the day, Wooyoung insisting on giving him a free cinnamon roll, and sitting with him for what must have been at least twenty minutes. Under different circumstances, San might have considered that something akin to a date. However, Wooyoung was at work, and San was a customer. A customer using the café for his own investigation, no less, which further complicated everything.

Because, strictly speaking, San shouldn’t be letting himself get distracted by such a frivolous thing while he was undercover. He drummed his fingers against the edge of his laptop uneasily. After all, he should be staying as inconspicuous as possible, not going out of his way to attract attention. And if he did end up actually dating the baker, would he eventually have to admit that he was a detective who’d only come to the café to spy on a police suspect?

Should he be nipping this flirting in the bud now, before it could potentially progress any further and create difficulties?

San twirled the loose cable of his laptop charger slowly around his finger and then let it go and watched it unfurl again. He shook his head.

Surely while it was just flirting, there was no harm in it, right? San was a professional, after all. He knew how to keep his work and private life separate. In fact, if anything, building a rapport with the café owners would be _beneficial_ to his investigation. It stopped him from coming across as a brooding, silent stranger, likely to draw suspicion. It gave him an excuse to keep coming back and possibly stay for longer amounts of time, to maybe access to more information about the place next door and the street as a whole through their little talks.

No, being friendly with Wooyoung, and Yeosang too, was a good thing.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he told himself.

He wasn’t.

By the time San had submitted his report and turned in for the night, he almost believed it.


	3. Chapter 3

Six days and two more visits later, San found himself bumping into a distinctive head of bright blue hair on the Black Cat’s doorstep.

Kim Hongjoong had been looking back over his shoulder at Yeosang as he walked out, laughing at something the other had said, and he turned just in time to avoid crashing into San.

“Ah, sorry!” he said, stepping back hurriedly, smile still on his face. “After you!”

San nodded his thanks as he passed him, noting the artfully ripped and paint-splashed jeans, the battered shoes, the takeaway coffee clutched in small hands that had silver-painted nails this time. Then he was gone, and Yeosang was turning a friendly smile onto San instead, already reaching for a new coffee cup.

“Hi San!” he called. “How are you going today?” 

“Pretty good, thanks. You?”

“Yeah, not bad.”

Yeosang set about making San’s coffee as San reached the counter and leaned against it casually.

“That guy I just passed,” he said, nodding vaguely over his shoulder, “He owns the place next door, right?”

“Ah, you’ve noticed Hongjoong-hyung around have you?” said Yeosang, glancing up from the coffee machine.

“Well, mostly because of the hair,” said San with a chuckle. “It’s quite distinctive.”

Yeosang’s lips twitched with amusement.

“It always is,” he said. “He had silver hair before he went blue, and before that it was _bright_ red, like…” He glanced around briefly, then pointed to a strawberry sitting on one of the tarts in the display. “Almost this _exact_ colour.”

“Wow,” laughed San. “You’ve known him for a while then? Or does he just change his hair really often?”

“Both,” said Yeosang. “We’ve been shop-neighbours for almost three years now, he stops by fairly often. We all get on pretty well.”

“Yeah?” said San, hoping Yeosang would elaborate, but not wanting to seem weirdly invested.

“He's a great guy,” said Yeosang, nodding. “And a really hard worker. Built his business up from nothing in a very short time, in our first year here.”

Now _that_ was interesting. In San’s experience, businesses running suspiciously well despite having just started out were more likely to have something else happening behind the scenes, namely some other source of income. The last gang-run business which San’s division had closed down had been identified because of its continued success despite making next to no sales. While it wasn’t damning evidence, it certainly warranted looking into.

San suddenly realised that Yeosang had asked him a question and startled, embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry, I was miles away,” he said. “Could you repeat that?”

Luckily the barista didn’t seem offended, just brought a hand to his mouth and gave a soft, deep chuckle that made San catch his breath involuntarily.

“I asked if you’d like to try one of the new apple muffins. You said cinnamon’s your favourite, right?”

“Oh!” said San, surprised. “You remembered?”

He felt oddly flustered that Yeosang had paid attention to the throwaway comment from over a week ago, and he could feel his face heat slightly, hoping once again that the blush wasn’t obvious. Strangely enough, there seemed to be a slight pink tinge to the barista’s cheeks too, although he remained perfectly composed as he gave a half-shrug, half-nod.

“I, uh, yeah, a muffin sounds great then,” said San. “Thanks!”

He paid and took his normal seat, taking off his coat and getting out his laptop. He fought down the urge to let his gaze drift back to the beautiful face behind the counter, and got to work.

After a while, Wooyoung wandered out of the kitchen and dropped off a couple of orders at Yeosang’s request before finding his way over to San’s table, as had become his habit. San welcomed his presence. Quite apart from his growing crush on the baker, he was starting to realise how long it had been since he’d had a friend to talk to. His work kept him constantly occupied, with little time for socialising. Even if this, too, was _technically_ for work rather than fun, getting to spend time around both Wooyoung and Yeosang was making San’s life considerably brighter.

They exchanged greetings and Wooyoung leant on the back of the chair opposite San.

“What are you working on?” he asked amiably.

“Ah, just some… freelance editing,” said San.

He glanced back at the document currently open on his laptop, part of a larger report the whole team had worked on last month. The section had turned out to have overlooked several details and needed rewriting. However, instead of the detective who’d actually _submitted_ the section, it had fallen to San to fix the mistakes, because _apparently_ he ‘should have picked up on it when the report got assembled’, just because he’d been the one who was sent to print it out and staple it together for submission.

He’d consider appealing to his boss about the unfair treatment, but the team didn’t look favourably on people who tattled, and he didn’t think the Chief Inspector would particularly care anyway. San didn’t have anyone on his side at the station, and it would continue to be that way until he proved himself as a capable detective like the rest of them.

Just another reason why it was vital that this current investigation went well. 

“Freelance editing?” repeated Wooyoung interestedly. “What does that involve?”

“People pay me to read over their work, get it presentable for publication, that sort of thing,” said San vaguely.

“Ooh, that sounds cool!” said Wooyoung.

“Ah, it’s actually pretty boring, normally,” said San with a shrug. “I just like it because it lets me work from home, or wherever my laptop is.”

He glanced around the café, and tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation before he had to make up anything else fake about his life. He didn’t like lying to Wooyoung.

“Aw!” said Wooyoung. “Surely you must get a few fun things! Do you ever do novel manuscripts? They’d be more interesting, wouldn’t they?”

“Well, occasionally, I guess…”

Movement outside the shop caught San’s eye, and he trailed off. A sleek black car had just pulled up in front of the tattoo parlour, and a tall figure stepped out of the back door. It was a man, dressed in a black suit and tie, briefcase in one hand, looking decidedly out of place on the sidewalk. He scanned the street, face grim, then nodded back to the car, which drove away.

Watchful, dark eyes met San’s for a fleeting moment, then the man was turning and hurrying into the tattoo parlour.

“That’s Seonghwa-hyung,” said Wooyoung, noticing that San was distracted and craning his neck to follow his gaze. “Good looking, isn’t he?”

That definitely wasn’t why San was staring, and the idea of Wooyoung fancying this suspicious man made a spike of unjustified jealously flare up in San’s gut, but he took the excuse anyway and chuckled self-consciously like he’d been caught.

“You know him?” he asked.

“Not as well as I’d like to,” Wooyoung huffed. “He’s Hongjoong-hyung’s friend. He’s in the area quite a bit, but Hongjoong-hyung won’t let us hang out with him.”

San frowned at the strange phrasing. “He won’t _let_ you?”

Wooyoung rested a hip against the chair and folded his arms.

“Nope. We’ve spoken to Seonghwa-hyung a few times and he’s really nice, but Hongjoong-hyung was always all agitated and ‘well this was nice but we _really must be going’_ the whole time.”

He flapped his hands around as he imitated the tattooist, and San laughed dutifully, but his mind was whirring.

This was dodgy. Was this Seonghwa person the tattoo parlour’s mafia contact? Why else would Hongjoong mind his neighbours simply chatting with his friend, unless there was something to hide?

Was he trying to avoid awkward questions? Was he aiming to keep two halves of his life separate? Was he trying to keep his non-mafia friends excluded for their own safety, perhaps? 

“Do you know why?” asked San.

“Well…” Wooyoung leaned forwards conspiratorially. “We _do_ have a theory.” 

“Oh?” San prompted, sitting up straighter.

Wooyoung pulled out the chair he’d been leaning on and settled into it.

“So,” he began in a low voice, “Seonghwa just kind of appeared out of the blue last year, saying he was a friend of Hongjoong’s, despite Hongjoong never having mentioned him before. He’s not the sort of person you’d expect to see hanging around a tattoo parlour, and the two of them don’t seem to have much in common, so naturally, Yeosang and I were curious, you know? Only Hongjoong never seemed to want to talk about him, always changed the subject when we asked.”

San nodded, listening intently.

“But we kept badgering him,” Wooyoung continued, “Until he finally told us that he and Seonghwa were close in high school, but fell out of touch when they left. Then they bumped into each other on the street last year, just out of chance, and decided to reconnect. And suddenly, Seonghwa’s visiting the tattoo parlour all the time, like, two or three times a week!”

San hummed thoughtfully. That did sound very unlikely, more and more like a cover story for why a well-dressed man was suddenly checking into this part of town regularly.

“So _we_ think…” said Wooyoung, lowering his voice even more.

San leaned closer, curious to hear what the café workers’ take on the situation was. Did they suspect underhand business as well?

“We think,” said Wooyoung, a grin spreading over his face, “That Seonghwa-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung _like_ each other.”

San blinked. _What?_

“Like, _like_ like each other, you know?” Wooyoung clarified, when San didn’t immediately react. “Why else would Seonghwa-hyung come hang out at a boring old tattoo parlour so often, unless he’s totally whipped for the owner? And Hongjoong-hyung doesn’t like talking about it because he’s awkward, and he doesn’t want me and Yeosang to embarrass him in front of his crush.”

“Which is a perfectly valid worry, to be fair,” said Yeosang, who had just finished serving a nearby table and wandered over, tucking his now-empty tray against his hip. He turned to Wooyoung. “You’re filling him in on the Seongjoong theory?”

Wooyoung nodded.

“We saw Seonghwa-hyung head in next door just now. He must have finished up early at work. Second time this week, I might add!”

Yeosang shook his head in mock-exasperation.

“It’s been _months,_ ” he said. “Could they be any more obvious? When are they going to stop dancing around each other and just kiss?”

San sat back and let out a long breath. This… wasn’t the sort of inside scoop he’d been hoping for. Still, it was endearing that the pair had come up with such an innocent explanation.

However, knowing what he did about the tattoo parlour, San wasn’t convinced. He listened to Wooyoung and Yeosang gossip about the apparent looks they’d seen Seonghwa giving Hongjoong last time they’d seen the pair together, until the next round of customers came in and they had to get back to work.

For his part, San spent the next few minutes carefully noting down all the new information he’d learned from the conversation. This was possibly his biggest lead yet.

The next day at work, San reported on his observations so far, concluding with a request for the mysterious Seonghwa to be identified for a background check.

The Chief Inspector frowned as he looked over the file, then looked up at San, who was standing on the other side of the desk with his hands clasped behind his back.

“This is all you’ve got? It’s been a whole fortnight, Detective Choi. I expected better.”

San blinked. He thought he’d done fairly well, given the constraints of the investigation. He’d found some more clues which pointed towards the Pirate King not being a normal business, and even identified a possible mafia-related superior who visited regularly. What more was he supposed to have done?

“I… I apologise, sir,” he said. “I didn’t want to push too hard for information and risk blowing my cover.”

“What, in this bakery you’ve been camping out in?” said the Chief derisively. “You really think they’re going to care if you come across as a bit weird? They probably haven’t even taken any notice of you so far.”

That definitely wasn’t the case, but ‘ _actually, they greet me by name every day and one of them’s been openly flirting with me’_ probably wouldn’t go down too well, so San kept his mouth shut.

“Need I remind you that this is a high-priority case you’ve been entrusted with?” continued the Chief. “We need this branch of KQ’s drug dealing closed down as soon as possible. They’re getting away with it too easily, and it’s starting to attract resentment from other gangs too. A turf war is the last thing we need right now.”

San swallowed.

“I understand, sir,” he said.

The Chief stared him down, unimpressed.

“I don’t care how you get it, Detective, I just want more information, and soon! Is that clear?”

San bowed.

“Yes, Chief.”

Which is how San ended up back at the Black Cat a day earlier than he’d been expecting, chatting with Yeosang again while his coffee was made. It took some quick thinking, but eventually San managed to work Hongjoong and the tattoo parlour into the conversation in what he hoped was a fairly natural way.

“And have you seen any of his work?” he asked.

Yeosang nodded as he bent down to retrieve another apple muffin from the glass case (the last one had indeed been delicious).

“Oh yes, he’s very good,” he said. “Why? Are you thinking of getting a tattoo?”

“Ah, yeah… considering it,” said San, happy to take the excuse. “Not sure yet though.”

Yeosang hummed thoughtfully, moving out from behind the counter to set down the coffee and muffin at San’s table.

“What sort would you get?” he asked. “Like, where abouts?” 

_Crap_ , San hadn’t thought that far ahead. Also, the other man was suddenly a lot closer than he’d been before, which was making it a little difficult to focus.

“Probably a… shoulder… kind of… thing?” he said.

“Oh, like down your arm?”

As he spoke, Yeosang leaned forward and trailed his fingers down San’s bicep. San’s breath hitched at the sudden contact, but then Yeosang was moving back like nothing had happened.

“I think that could look really good!” he said, smiling. “You have nice arms, you know.”

San swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh! Uh, thank you!” he said lamely. “I’d, um, I’d probably get it a bit higher up, so I could keep it hidden under a t-shirt if I wanted, but yeah, something like that.”

“Ah,” said Yeosang. “That makes sense.”

They lapsed into silence. San took a sip of his coffee for something to do with his hands, despite it still being slightly too hot. Yeosang’s gaze was calm, his eyes seeming softer than usual as they swept over San, looking him up and down.

“You could always drop by the tattoo parlour and ask to see Hongjoong’s folio,” he suggested after a moment. “He’s always happy to discuss his work with potential customers, and there wouldn’t be any pressure to book in immediately. He’d understand if you haven’t made up your mind yet.”

“Oh,” said San, surprised he hadn’t thought of that himself. “That’s a good idea. I might do that.”

Yeosang nodded, then looked up at the bell above the door tinkled, signalling a new customer. He quickly excused himself and headed back to the counter. 

San let out a long breath, feeling a little stunned by the interaction. What just happened? 

Had Yeosang been flirting with him?

Having friendly chats and remembering things like San’s favourite flavour was one thing, but this sudden forwardness was new. And San was… surprisingly into it too.

Ok, maybe it wasn’t surprising, the man had the face of an angel, and he was funny as well. But San’s head had been filled with thoughts of Wooyoung recently, so while he’d been _aware_ that the barista was incredibly attractive, he hadn’t dwelled on it. Well, not as _much_ , anyway.

Now, though, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Still, he thought as he watched Yeosang taking down the customers’ orders with a smile significantly less real than the one he directed at San, at least he knew what his next step was for the investigation.

It was time to pay the Pirate King a visit.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later found San back in Horizon Street, this time preparing to enter a different store.

The Pirate King looked much the same as it had three weeks ago, when San had first started his surveillance of the business. The golden compass on the door, so similar to the KQ mafia’s symbol and yet _just_ different enough for plausible deniability, seemed to mock him. Maybe today San could finally find some of the answers he’d been looking for.

Not wanting to linger outside any longer, San took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The front room was quite small, and looked pretty much how San would expect it to. The interior was painted dark red, with some black leather couches against the far wall. There were some colourful prints on the walls, some abstract and some continuing the pirate theme; old-fashioned ships and swords and seaside scenes. A replica of a wooden ship’s steering wheel was hung behind the front desk, where the owner was currently seated.

Kim Hongjoong was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk and dressed in a red tie-die shirt which contrasted with his blue hair. He had what looked like a denim jacket spread across his lap, and busy stitching a colourful patch onto the sleeve, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

…he certainly didn’t _look_ very mafia-like. However, San knew better than to judge simply be appearance. 

He looked up as San entered, and smiled brightly. 

“Oh, hello!” he called. “How can I help you?”

San smiled back.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m thinking of getting a tattoo but haven’t made my mind up yet, I was wondering if you could help me out with some questions?”

“Absolutely!” said Hongjoong, putting his sewing aside and getting to his feet. “What sort of information are you after?”

San had spent the last few days preparing this time, so he didn’t flounder like he had when Yeosang asked. He rattled off his made-up idea of getting a medium-sized tattoo on his chest, and ran through some fake queries about how much it would cost, how many sessions it might take depending on the size and detail, and the pros and cons of full-coloured vs black ink. 

Hongjoong was very helpful, answering all his questions clearly with no hint of impatience. He showed San some examples of his previous work while he spoke, and they truly were very impressive.

“These all look great,” said San truthfully, as he reached the end of the folio.

“Those are just the black ink ones,” said Hongjoong, heading back to the desk. “I’ll grab the coloured examples for you, so you can compare.”

He sifted through one of the drawers, then cursed under his breath.

“Ah, I’ve gone and left it in the back,” he said. “I’ll just be a minute!”

He strode back across the room, disappearing through a beaded curtain at the back. A few seconds later, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. At that, San leapt into action.

Darting over to the desk, San quickly pulled out his phone and photographed the logbook sitting on the top, not bothering to read it properly – he didn’t have the time right now. Then he quickly went through the drawers, snapping a picture of each one’s contents. He’d only just finished when he heard the door handle turn again, giving him just enough warning to shove his phone back into his pocket and retreat to where he’d been standing before.

Hongjoong’s head poked through the beaded curtain.

“Actually,” he said, “Would you like to see out the back while I’m here? I can show you the set-up and the needles and stuff.”

“Oh, sure, that sounds good!” said San, eager to see more of the building. If there were drugs being hidden somewhere on the premises, they were unlikely to be in the waiting room.

Hongjoong held the curtain aside for him, and when San was through, he was faced with two doors. One had ‘ _The Workroom’_ painted on it in fancy lettering, and was clearly the back room Hongjoong had been referring to. The other door was blank.

Deciding to take a chance, San started towards the other door. However, as soon as his hand closed around the handle, he knew he was out of luck – the door was firmly locked.

“Ah, not through there,” said Hongjoong quickly. “That’s staff only.”

“Oops, sorry,” said San, feigning an embarrassed chuckle. “I missed the sign.”

“All good,” said Hongjoong, opening the workroom door. “Now, if you’ll follow me, this is where the actual tattooing gets done…”

If San had been a genuine potential client, he would have been impressed and grateful for the amount of attention and detail Hongjoong put into showing him around. As it was, however, the workroom was disappointingly normal and free from anything suspicious, and San had to struggle to pretend to stay interested while he was regaled with information about the rigorous hygiene measures the parlour took to ensure their clients’ safety, and the numerous assurances that they were professionals and the process would be as efficient and painless as possible.

“So, any other questions or concerns?” asked Hongjoong after what felt like half an hour.

San fought back a yawn and shook his head.

“No, thank you, that was very informative.”

“Great!” Hongjoong waved the folder of coloured examples he’d found on a bench during the impromptu tour. “Let’s head back out then, and you can have a look through some of these.”

They settled onto one of the leather couches in the front room and San dutifully began examining the second folio, which at least was full of very attractive art, which was more interesting than safety regulations.

“Got any particular design you’re interested in?” asked Hongjoong, as San continued to leaf through the folder.

San decided it was time to prod a little further.

“Well, I was thinking of maybe… getting a compass?”

He watched the tattooist carefully out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, looking for any tell-tale reaction. Hongjoong sat up a litter straighter and tilted his head. San held his breath.

“Really?” said Hongjoong. “That’s funny. I’ve got a couple of those myself.”

He pulled up the left sleeve of his t-shirt and twisted to show San the tattoo on his bicep. It was beautifully detailed, an old-fashioned bronze compass at a three-quarter angle, the cover unlatched and its chain coiled underneath.

San ‘ _ooh_ ’ed appreciatively, but he was much more interested in the fact that Hongjoong had said he had a ‘couple’. Where was the other compass? Could it be the simple, two-inch black compass that all KQ members wore on their right shoulder? Would Hongjoong show it to him? Could it be that simple?

When Hongjoong wasn’t forthcoming, San opened his mouth to ask. Before he could, however, the door opened and both of them turned.

There in the doorway, immaculate in his dark suit, was Seonghwa.

For a moment, everyone was still. It seemed that Seonghwa hadn’t been expecting anyone else to be in the tattoo parlour when he entered, from the way he hovered, clearly debating whether or not to step inside. 

“My apologies, I didn’t realise you had a client this afternoon,” he said smoothly. “I can come back later.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” said Hongjoong quickly, beckoning him in. “This isn’t a proper session, just answering some inquiries about my rates and so on. He’s thinking of getting a compass, actually.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows rose slightly, the same subtle prick of interest that Hongjoong had shown before. He turned to San, cold eyes sweeping over the detective and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Oh?” he said. “Did you show him yours?”

“Yeah,” said Hongjoong. “Just now actually, before you came in.”

“Which one?” asked Seonghwa.

There was something in his eyes, some glint of… intrigue? Amusement? San couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t like it.

“Which one do you think?” said Hongjoong a tad defensively, tapping his bicep.

Seonghwa’s eyes raked over San again, then flicked back to Hongjoong.

“You didn’t think the other one was appropriate?” he asked, hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

“No,” said Hongjoong firmly. “I did not. Now, _if you wouldn’t mind_ , I’d like to finish helping my customer. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done.”

He pulled out a keyring from his pocket and tossed them to Seonghwa, who caught them one-handed and headed obediently out through the beaded curtain with an apologetic nod that struck San as not being entirely sincere.

So, Seonghwa was allowed in the staff-only room? That was interesting. He was clearly in there quite often too, given how easily Hongjoong had handed over the keys and how he’d known exactly where to go. San’s interest in the staff room was even higher now – it seemed to be the only room in the building he hadn’t seen, so if anything _was_ being hidden, it would most likely be in there.

Hongjoong turned back to San.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Were there any other questions, or anything else I can help you with? Please don’t feel rushed, my, uh, friend can wait.”

“Ah, no,” said San, getting to his feet. “I think that’s all. I mean, like I said, I still haven’t made up my mind yet, but you’ve been very helpful! I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” said Hongjoong. “Don’t hesitate to stop by again. Have a good afternoon!”

“You too!” called San as he left the shop.

Well, thought San as he trudged up Horizon Street, kicking a stone along absently, that wasn’t really the breakthrough he’d been hoping for. Apart from having his suspicions raised even further, he’d gained barely anything from the investigation. The Pirate King was a functioning business, the owner _probably_ had an incriminating tattoo but he hadn’t seen it, and his ‘friend’ was _probably_ his mafia superior, but he hadn’t said or done anything that could directly implicate him.

It was progress, yes, but not on the level the Chief Inspector had pushed San for at their last meeting.

One thing was for sure now – one way or another, San was going to have to find a way into that back room. 


	5. Chapter 5

San was going to go insane if things kept on this way for much longer.

Since his snoop around the tattoo parlour over a week ago, he hadn’t found a _single_ new clue. Nothing particularly suspicious had been sighted around the shop, no matter what time of day San arrived, or how long he stayed and watched. The photos he’d taken at the front desk hadn’t shown anything of interest. The police database search he’d requested on Seonghwa had come up blank, no one matching his description being linked to any recent mafia-related activity, or even so much as a parking ticket.

After nine days with nothing new to report, San’s boss was getting impatient, and he wasn’t an understanding man at the best of times. On the increasingly few days he wasn’t at the café, San tiptoed around the station, dreading catching the Chief Inspector’s attention as it would invariably lead to him getting shouted at. San knew he was probably in over his head with this investigation, but he was too scared to ask for backup now, fearing that such a request would get him fired on the spot.

And then there was Wooyoung and Yeosang.

Over the past couple of weeks, they’d been paying more attention to San than ever. At face value, this might seem like a good thing, fantastic, even. They were so friendly and fun to be around, the only bright spot in San’s life right now if he was honest.

But it was slowly becoming apparent that not one but _both_ of them were seriously signalling their interest for more, and to say that San was confused would be an understatement.

What had been playful, exaggerated flirting with Wooyoung now seemed increasingly genuine. Little gestures and compliments from Yeosang that had seemed vague and up to interpretation were now growing more and more direct. San didn’t understand what their intentions were anymore, and although he soaked up their attention like a flower needing sunlight, powerless to resist their smiles and appreciation, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on.

Mutual attraction hung in the air like a palpable thing, and if there was _only_ Wooyoung or _only_ Yeosang then San’s next step couldn’t have been clearer – he’d have asked them out in a heartbeat. But that wasn’t the case, and as it was, San felt stuck. How had he ended up in this strange, pre-relationship-like phase with two people at once?

He’d think that he was doing something dishonest, leading them both on without committing to one or the other, except that, well, they were both _there_ throughout it all. Neither Wooyoung nor Yeosang seemed bothered in the slightest if the other was in the same room when they flirted with San. Hell, sometimes it happened in the same _conversation_. Sometimes they even seemed to be watching for each other’s reactions as much as San’s.

It was almost like being competed for, but in the most weirdly cooperative way ever, each taking turns to woo him while the other looked on with interest.

Wooyoung would insist that San sample new recipes he was trying when there were no other customers around, always waving away San’s attempts to pay and insisting that his feedback was enough. He’d also taken to finding excuses to touch San’s hair, exclaiming over how soft it looked and demanding to know what shampoo he used. Throughout all of this, Yeosang would merely chuckle and shake his head at Wooyoung’s antics, not seeming to mind at all.

And then, just last visit, Wooyoung had loudly admired the bracelet San had worn. When Yeosang came over too see what the fuss was about, he calmly took San’s hand in his own to examine the silver chain more closely, like that was a normal thing to do. He’d then looked directly into San’s eyes and said ‘ _beautiful’_ in a way which _clearly_ was not referring to the bracelet anymore, and while San had been left speechless, Wooyoung didn’t even bat an eyelid, just cheerfully nodded his agreement.

The whole situation was making San feel like a bewildered mess.

There was undoubtedly _something_ going on beneath the surface that San wasn’t privy to, and part of him just wanted to demand an answer from the pair, ask where this strange tag-team seduction was headed, what it meant and what they were hoping to get out of it. 

But another more cowardly part of him refused, scared that if he complained, tried to put a label on their strange back-and-forth, they might withdraw, and he didn’t think he was strong enough to handle that right now.

Because confusing or not, they were still friendly and genuine, interested in what San had to say even though he wasn’t forthcoming with details about his own life, and just as happy to chat about any random topic as they were to flirt. Going to the café and knowing he’d get to see their faces was starting to feel like the only time he could breathe, the happiness of seeing them the only force strong enough to eclipse the ever-growing pressure and dread that was his work life. He had a hunch that even if he didn’t need to be here for his investigation, he’d still find himself helplessly gravitating back to the café.

Still, even Yeosang’s soft smiles and Wooyoung’s bright laughter couldn’t hold off the outside world for long.

San stared down at the coffee Yeosang had just brought him. There was a heart drawn in the foam, instead of the usual abstract ripple.

“You’ve looked a bit stressed recently,” he’d said gently, laying a hand on San’s shoulder. “I hope everything’s ok. Let us know if you need someone to talk to, won’t you?”

_A bit stressed._

San nearly laughed as he watched Yeosang head back to the counter to serve the next customer, the Chief’s latest rant echoing in his head.

_“If we don’t shut this down soon, some other gang will!”_ he’d screamed. _“And then the whole street’s going to become a fucking battleground! Is that what you want to happen?! Another gang war?!”_

San shuddered at the thought. Wooyoung and Yeosang lived here, after all, in the little apartment above the shop. If the streets became unsafe, not only would their business suffer, but their safety could be at risk.

He groaned aloud and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He felt so frazzled and stressed. He felt so _useless_.

He’d tried asking Yeosang and Wooyoung for more information about Hongjoong and Seonghwa, but just gotten more anecdotes about the two apparently being smitten for each other. He’d been back to the Pirate King with some exceedingly dumb questions about the tattooing process, which Hongjoong had answered readily enough even if he’d looked a little bemused, but there hadn’t been any chance to get into the locked room. At this point, going back there again without booking an actual appointment to get tattooed was going to make him look extremely suspicious.

What else was he supposed to do?

“Wooyoung!” called Yeosang suddenly. “The flour we ordered is here. Can you come watch the counter while I help Yunho and Mingi unload?”

San glanced up and saw a van pulling into the little alleyway next to the bakery, on the side opposite the tattoo parlour. It had a cheery logo stamped on the side that San didn’t have time to read before it passed.

“Ok, send them through when you’re done,” said Wooyoung, emerging from the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee for them.”

Yeosang nodded and headed out the back. San heard his voice raised in a friendly greeting before the doors swung shut behind him.

A couple came in and ordered two hot chocolates to go, and Wooyoung got to work making them up. San went back to his surveillance. Eventually, the café cleared out again, and a pair of tall men, one with blond hair and one with brown, both easily six feet, wandered out of the back room.

“Wooyoung!” called the brunette. “How are you going?”

“Yeosang said there’d be coffee for us,” said the blond, “Was it made by him or you?”

“Me,” said Wooyoung defensively. “Why are you asking?”

“Ah,” the blond shook his head sadly, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a shame.”

“Jeong Yunho, you take that back or I’m pouring your coffee down the sink!” squawked Wooyoung, although his crinkling eyes betrayed his belligerent tone.

The other two joined in his laughter at what was clearly an ongoing joke.

“It’s ok babe, you can have some of mine,” said the other man, presumably Mingi, wrapping an arm around Yunho’s waist and pecking him on the cheek.

“Aw, thank you Mingi-yah,” said Yunho, turning his head for a proper kiss on the lips.

The kiss only lasted a second before Wooyoung made a gagging noise and yelled at them to knock it off.

“Get a room which isn’t my workplace!”

“Oh please,” said Mingi, pulling back with a grin, although he kept his arm around Yunho. “Like you two aren’t just as bad.”

San blinked.

What did Mingi mean? Did Wooyoung… have a partner? Surely he’d misheard.

“We are _not!”_ said Wooyoung. “We don’t do PDA at work, because unlike _some people_ , we have professionalism and class.”

“And also because your boyfriend won’t let you?” said Yunho with a smirk.

Wooyoung’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“And also because my boyfriend won’t let me,” he grumbled.

Now San’s head was properly spinning. _Wooyoung had a boyfriend?_ Since when? And what the _hell_ was he doing flirting with San then?

“My condolences, Wooyoungie,” said Yunho, with heavy faux-sincerity. “I didn’t realise your relationship was in a rough patch.”

“Is he making you sleep on the couch too?” giggled Mingi, leaning into Yunho’s shoulder.

“Hey- we are _not_ \- that isn’t-!” spluttered Wooyoung. He craned his head around to the kitchen doors. “Yeosangie!” he cried. “Get out here! They’re bullying me!”

There was a vague shout in reply, then a moment later Yeosang emerged, retying his loose apron strings in front of him as he walked.

“Can’t I leave you lot unsupervised for five minutes?” he grumbled.

Not bothering to reply, Wooyoung knocked Yeosang’s hands aside and grabbed the apron strings himself, tugged Yeosang forward… and kissed him full on the lips.

San’s jaw dropped.

Yeosang’s eyes widened and he shoved Wooyoung off, looking scandalised.

“We’re at _work!”_ he hissed, glancing around the café agitatedly.

“Ohhh!” yelled Mingi gleefully.

_“Rejected!”_ hooted Yunho.

“Shut up!” cried Wooyoung. Turning back to Yeosang he pouted. “C’mon, there’s no one else here! I mean, it’s only Sannie.”

_It’s only Sannie._

Even through the haze of confusion, the dismissive words seemed to pierce San’s chest like a knife.

Yeosang, however, seemed appeased by this and, after casting Yunho and Mingi a calculating glance, abruptly seized Wooyoung by the collar and pulled him into a heated kiss.

Somehow, part of San still managed to detach from the gravity of the situation and simply stare at the sight in front of him. He couldn’t look away the picture they made, the way Wooyoung tilted his head and how it made his jawline stand out, the little furrow that appeared in Yeosang’s brow like he was concentrating, the sheer _intensity_ of the kiss. They were beautiful by themselves, but seeing them together like this, San felt like his breath had been stolen.

They were perfect, a vision.

They looked like they belonged together.

San had never felt like such an idiot before in his life.

Dimly, he was aware that Yunho and Mingi had started shouting again, ‘ _Ok, ok, we believe you!’_ and ‘ _You can stop now! We get it!’_ but the words barely registered. His thoughts were swimming, no, _he_ was swimming, desperately trying to stay afloat, and his thoughts were a whirlpool threatening to drown him.

They were a couple. Fuck, they hadn’t even tried to hide it. Wooyoung had told San outright on his second visit that the two lived together. They shared casual touches too, brushes of hands in passing, but San had just thought it was the ease of a years-long friendship. How had he gotten it so wrong?

They were a couple. A committed, long-term couple, and San was just… What _was_ San?

Wooyoung’s voice sounded in his head again. _It’s only Sannie._

Was he just passing entertainment to them? Were they simply humouring him, amused by easily he’d fallen for them, having fun coaxing reactions from him? Were they secretly laughing at him, at how pathetic and smitten he was?

_It’s only Sannie._

Was that why both of them were so entirely unbothered to see the other flirting with San, because they were secure in the knowledge that none of it had ever meant anything?

San could feel tears threatening, his face heating in humiliation. Normally he wasn’t particularly quick to cry, but right now he was exhausted, his brain was foggy, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

He needed to get out of here.

Tearing his gaze away from Yeosang and Wooyoung, who had broken their kiss but were still wrapped in each other’s arms, San shoved his laptop and notebook unceremoniously into his bag and staggered to his feet.

The room seemed to wobble around him as he strode towards the door, putting all his concentration into not crashing into a table or chair on the way. In the background, he heard Yeosang say something muffled which caused Yunho to gasp in offence and Mingi and Wooyoung to burst into laughter. He was grateful for the noise, as it covered the sound of the bell on the door announcing his departure. He didn’t think he could stand it if any of them noticed him right now.

Outside, San gulped down lungfuls of fresh air and fought back his tears. He could cry when he got home. He _would_ cry when he got home.

For now, he just needed to focus on getting there, and quickly. 

Investigation be damned, right now he just needed to be as far away from the Black Cat Bakery and its owners as possible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter yet, and it's gonna be a rollercoaster!

The next two days were… not good, to put it lightly.

San had no new data to report after fleeing the café after only half an hour of surveillance, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return since. He hadn’t been back to work either, his boss making it abundantly clear that San wasn't welcome to show his face at the precinct again without enough evidence for a search warrant.

San had begged to be taken off the case, but no one in the office was currently free to take over, and the Chief was furious that San had even suggested it.

“Oh, so you just want to bail out now?!” he screamed over the phone when San had last called. “Just because the answers haven’t fallen into your lap? You thought this was going to be all nice and easy, did you?” 

“No, sir,” San had mumbled. “I’m sorry, sir.”

But his boss wasn’t done.

“Our informants are telling us that other gangs are on the move! They want that place shut down just as much as we do – _more_ than you, apparently! And they’re not gonna be so gentle about it either!”

“I understand, sir, but I…”

“If you can’t find enough evidence to shut this stupid tattoo shop down soon, you can kiss your job goodbye, is that clear?!”

A day later, San still hadn’t made it back Horizon Street. He knew he should be making himself useful, should be out on the hunt for evidence, but he couldn’t bring himself to face Yeosang and Wooyoung again, and he didn’t know what else to do.

He wished he could think more clearly, had a feeling that maybe things would make more sense if he wasn’t so exhausted, but he was too wound up to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time before his own racing thoughts woke him up again.

He didn’t know why he was so hurt by finding out they were a couple – he’d already known deep down that he could never end up dating either of them while the other was there. It should have been a relief to know that neither of them were actually reciprocating his feelings. He didn’t want to be in some weird love triangle, or create any conflict between the two. He’d been confused about their behaviour, and knowing that they were actually together and probably not interested in San after all _explained_ that behaviour. _It should have been a relief_.

Still, they’d always seemed so sincere and caring that it made San’s heart hurt to realise he’d been misinterpreting everything since the beginning. 

Looking back without the shock of new discovery, San thought they probably weren’t doing it _just_ to make fun of him, and it had been an overreaction to assume so. Maybe they just thought San was laid-back back and fun to casually flirt with for the sake of it, and he’d just read into everything too much because he was pathetic and starved for affection.

But either way, the fact was that San had fallen, hard, and he knew it would take a long time get over them.

And now in the meantime, both Wooyoung and Yeosang and everyone else in Horizon Street could be in danger soon, if San didn’t get his act together. It was that thought more than anything else that kept San going over his notes and clues again and again like a madman. Even if he was hurt, even if he didn’t want to face them again, San would still do anything in his power to keep them safe.

The trouble was that all his hard work was still yielding nothing.

At the end of the third day, San came to an abrupt decision.

The only way to get a warrant was to get into the back room, but the only way to get into the back room was with a warrant. There was no way to break the cycle without breaking the law.

Some of his boss’s last tirade floated back to him.

_I don’t care how you get it, Detective, I just want more information._

_I don’t care how you get it._

San didn’t like it, but he knew what he had to do.

He dressed inconspicuously, plain dark clothes, a beanie pulled over his hair and a facemask covering his nose and mouth. He slipped a lockpicking set into an inside pocket, as well as gloves to make sure he wouldn’t leave fingerprints.

He left his badge behind.

This wasn’t police business anymore.

He left his apartment at just past 1am, head down and hands buried deep in his pockets. The way to Horizon Street was mercifully uneventful, giving San time to go over the plan in his head. He’d go down the alley beside the bakery, which led to all the shops’ back entrances, and get in that way. Hongjoong usually went home between 5 and 6pm, and even on nights where he stayed late, it was rarely past 11pm. The tattoo parlour should be well and truly empty by now.

If he didn’t find anything, San would tell his boss that they’d been wrong and needed to look elsewhere. If he _did_ find something, on the other hand, then they could finally, _finally_ take action. Once San had solid evidence to take to the Chief, the means by which he’d come by said evidence wouldn’t matter. Who was going to be questioning how San got into the back room if it turned out to be full of drugs? They’d be too busy arresting the _real_ criminals to care if a couple of rules had been bent.

So it was ok, _really._ It was.

Yes, technically what he was doing was wrong, illegal, a breach of the trust placed in him as a member of the police, but it was for the _right reasons_. That was the most important thing, at the end of the day, wasn’t it?

San reached the alley and hurried down it, keeping his head low and his footsteps light. The area was deserted, but he knew that the café owners and possibly other shopkeepers lived above their businesses, and he didn’t want to wake anyone and risk them looking out their windows.

He’d need to be quick, so no one noticed anything was amiss. No lingering, no stalling. In and out, get the evidence and go.

However, as San passed the bakery and was approaching the tattoo parlour’s back door, he found himself slowing down.

Was he really going to do this?

The idea of breaking and entering had seemed so straightforward back at home, but now he was actually staring down the locked door in question, San wasn’t so certain.

He’d never done anything like this before, never broken a law willingly, _actively_ like this. Did he really still have the moral high ground here? Could he really force himself to do this?

After another minute frozen indecision, San yanked his facemask off in frustration and ran a hand over his face. This was ridiculous. The whole idea was ridiculous. Maybe he should just go home.

Before he could come to a decision, however, a noise startled San out of his thoughts. Faint voices, footsteps growing steadily louder.

Two men were approaching from the opposite end of the alley.

Cursing, San darted behind a dumpster and crouched slightly to stay out of sight. Peering carefully around the edge, he saw the men stop in front of the tattoo parlour, right where he’d been standing moments before. Low voices drifted back to him.

“…said that this was probably the one. Right part of town, compass on the door. This must be where they store the stuff.”

San frowned. They were clearly talking about the drug dealing, but if they were KQ, wouldn’t they _know_ which building was the right one?

The larger of the two tilted his head, and San noticed a tattoo peeking out from under his collar, shaped like a coiled snake. These men weren’t KQ. They were Vipers, one of KQ’s main rivals.

He remembered his boss’s warnings about rival gangs planning to intervene, and tensed. Were they going to attack the tattoo parlour, maybe break in like he’d been planning to? Were they just scouting out the area for now?

“I still don’t get why we’re here,” grumbled the big man with the visible tattoo. “This was meant to be done with by now. What happened to Moon getting it shut down legally for us?”

“ _Chief Inspector Moon_ ,” said the smaller one disdainfully, “Is an incompetent piece of shit who can’t deliver on any of his promises. If he wasn’t so high up in the police ranks, the boss would’ve cut him off years ago.”

At the sound of his boss’s name, San froze. The Chief Inspector… was involved with the Vipers? That couldn’t be right. He leant forward, straining to hear as the men continued to speak quietly.

“He said he’d get a search warrant and shut the place down by last week,” the smaller man continued. “Boss called in to check how it was going, and it turns out the idiot’s only got one guy on the job, and it’s a fuckin’ _rookie_ detective at that.”

“What? That's not a one-man job! Why the hell didn’t he put a full team on it?”

“Didn’t want to raise suspicion, I guess. Can’t have word getting out that he was using police resources for gang business.”

San couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Chief Inspector was corrupt? All this time San had been working tirelessly on the case, and now it turned out that it was all just to help a gang to wipe out their competition? That’s why his boss had refused him any backup or breaks, had pushed him so ruthlessly to get the job done? He felt a sudden wave of nausea at the thought.

“Yeah, except now the boss is sick of waiting and it’s back on us to do the job anyway,” huffed the big man. “What’re we going then? Reckon burning it down would be the quickest way?”

“It’d send a message,” agreed the other. “And destroy some valuable stock too, with any luck. We could come by with some more people, maybe Sunday or Monday night, around this time. Break a couple of windows to get in, drown the place in petrol. Toss a match before we leave, easy, done.”

San went cold. The tattoo parlour was so close to the Black Cat Bakery – if it was set alight, the fire could easily spread to the neighbouring shops, putting not just the businesses at risk, but the lives of the people sleeping in the apartments above. He couldn’t let them get away with this. He’d need to report back immediately about their plan, so the Chief could…

_Oh._

The Chief. San hadn’t thought that far ahead. Who the fuck was he supposed to go to with this info, if his boss was _supporting_ this gang? What would happen if San told him what he knew now?

San cursed under his breath. He had to protect Wooyoung and Yeosang, but how was he going to do that if the Chief Inspector was going to be actively working to discredit his report? Who would believe the newest detective in the office over the Chief? Maybe if he-

“Enjoying the show?” growled a voice in San’s ear.

San flinched violently before his instincts and training kicked in. He whirled around ready to fight, but the man behind him was prepared and caught his fist easily, using San’s own momentum against him to twist his arm up behind his back. San hissed in pain and changed tactics, trying to kick out behind him, but the man was already dragging him out of cover before he could regain his balance.

The two men turned in surprise as they approached. 

“What the hell?”

“Got ourselves an eavesdropper,” announced the man holding San. “Lucky I was running late.”

The shorter man smirked and cracked his knuckles.

“Oh really? Anyone we know?”

A rough hand yanked San’s beanie off, and he was turned around to face the shorter man, who was apparently the leader out of the three. Heart racing, San let them manhandle him, knowing he had to act helpless for now – if they got the slightest hint that he was police, or suspected he was from some other gang, he’d be as good as dead.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” said the leader, looking San over. “How much did you hear, pretty boy?”

“Nothing!” gasped San. “I wasn’t… I just… I live nearby and I was just passing, and…”

He broke off with a groan as his arm was twisted higher up his back, pain shooting up his shoulder.

“Just passing, huh?” said the leader, raising an eyebrow. He nodded at the other man. “Check his shoulder.”

The big man strode forward, tugging San’s hoodie and shirt off his right shoulder. _Looking for a compass tattoo,_ San realised. 

“Nothing,” said the big man.

The leader blinked in surprise, then laughed.

“So you really are just some poor bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time, eh? Bad lack, pal.”

“Do we kill him then?” asked the man holding San.

“Have to,” said the leader with a shrug. “He probably heard the bit about Moon. Can’t have anyone knowing the Chief Inspector is one of us.” 

“No! Please!” cried San, trying to stall for time, “I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”

San was a trained and capable fighter, which meant there was a chance he could survive this. The man’s grip around his arms was strong, but if he was sudden enough, he could definitely break free. Then it would be a matter of fighting his way out, which could prove more difficult. The element of surprise would only last so long, and he was badly outnumbered. He could take on two at once, but three could go either way, and they likely had guns.

He needed something else, some sort of distraction to level the odds, but what? He was running out of time. 

“We doing it here, or should we chuck him in the river?” asked the big man.

“Hm,” said the leader. “I think here. This could save everyone some time. Afterall, what better reason for the police to investigate the nearby shops than a body being discovered out the back?”

The others hummed their agreement, and all eyes were turned onto San.

“No, wait,” he begged, eyes scanning the alley for something, _anything_ he could use. “Please, I…”

“Get your hands off him,” said a quiet voice.

Everyone jerked around at the interruption, towards the light suddenly spilling out into the alley. Yeosang was standing in the doorway of the bakery’s rear entrance.

He was holding a gun.

For a few seconds, San’s brain rejected the image in front of him. Because that couldn’t be Yeosang, surely not. Yeosang didn’t have an expression like stone and eyes like ice, didn’t talk with such venom is his tone, didn’t _radiate menace_ like that. Yeosang would never threaten anyone with a gun – where the hell would he even get one?

“What the fuck…?” started one of the Vipers, taking a step backward, only to freeze when Yeosang shifted to aim at him.

His grip on the gun was professional, two-handed and perfectly steady. He tilted his head.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said coldly. 

San could almost see the leader’s thought process as he looked the newcomer up and down. Even if all the Vipers had guns on them, Yeosang had the advantage because his weapon was already drawn and cocked. If all of them pulled their guns then they’d have the advantage, but Yeosang would undoubtedly shoot as soon as they moved. Was winning worth the guaranteed loss of one of his men?

“Right,” he said slowly. “Well, we don’t want any trouble, do we boys? We’ll just be on our way…”

He began to back away, motioning for his men to do the same. San stumbled slightly as he was dragged along too.

“I don’t think so,” said a voice from behind them.

Even after Yeosang’s sudden appearance, nothing could have prepared San for the sight of Wooyoung stepping out of the shadows, twirling a switchblade around his fingers.

The Vipers halted, their escape route blocked off and their advantage in numbers weakened. Wooyoung’s usual smile was gone, replaced by a scowl, and his next words sent a shiver down San’s spine.

“Didn’t you hear Yeosang? He said hands off.” Wooyoung nodded towards San. “He’s _ours_.”

The leader looked between them, and seemed to realise they weren’t going to be getting out without a fight. He plunged a hand into his coat, going for the gun that must be strapped there. Without thinking, San opened his mouth to shout a warning to Wooyoung.

The words never made it out, as the next few seconds turned into a whirl of chaos and blood.

_Bang!_

The leader dropped like a stone, dead before he hit the ground.

Before Yeosang had even lowered the smoking pistol, Wooyoung had darted in behind the man holding San, who suddenly seized up and let out a choking gasp. San wrenched himself out of his grip as soon as it began to loosen, feeling something warm and wet splatter over his face and neck. Stumbling slightly, he turned to see Wooyoung yanking his knife out of the man’s jugular, kicking his body aside as the Viper slumped, his front drenched in his own blood.

The last man standing drew a switchblade of his own with an angry shout and advanced on them. Wooyoung reacted quickly, shoving San out of the knife’s path. Unprepared, San lost his balance, tripping and falling on his front, just managing to catch himself on his hands. Rolling to sit up hurriedly, he watched as the Viper lunged at Wooyoung, who dodged just in time. The big man pivoted quickly, arm swinging out for another slash.

He was fast.

Yeosang was faster.

A second shot rang out, and the man fell instantly. He landed with a soft thud, and the fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

San blinked at the body uncomprehendingly, at the sightless eyes, the blood pooling on the asphalt below. He was a detective, he’d seen corpses before, seen the results of gang violence and mafia fighting many times. This was different though. He’d never seen a dead body put there by someone he thought he _knew_.

Dimly, he heard footsteps from his left, and then Wooyoung was dropping to his knees in front of San, eyes wide and worried.

“San, are you alright? Sannie? Talk to me.”

San didn’t answer. He just stared. Wooyoung had avoided the Viper’s knife, but his shirt had been slashed open, exposing skin underneath.

And there on Wooyoung’s shoulder, visible even in the dim light, was a compass tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skdjhskjfhs the last scene was the first part of this fic that got written, and I've been hanging out to finally post it 😂😂


	7. Chapter 7

“San? I’m sorry, but we can’t stay here. We need to get you inside, ok?”

He could hear Wooyoung’s voice, but it seemed distant, as if from underwater. San found himself being helped to his feet, away from the bodies slowly cooling on the ground.

“Don’t look at them, ok San?” said Yeosang softly. “Just focus on us, alright? Don’t look down.”

Even though his thoughts were screaming, his body was numb with shock and he let himself be guided.

The two ushered San inside with gentle words and soft touches, into the warmth of the bakery kitchen. Yeosang closed the door behind them and began setting an impressive amount of locks and bolts over it, while Wooyoung led San through another doorway and up a narrow flight of stairs, into the small apartment above the café.

It was disarmingly normal, welcoming even. Open plan kitchen and living room, cosily furnished, with doors presumably leading to the bedrooms and bathroom.

Wooyoung steered San over to a faded, comfy sofa and sat him down, crouching in front of him and taking both San’s hands in his own.

“It’s ok now, San,” said Wooyoung. “You’ll be safe here.”

San stared at their joined hands, his head spinning.

 _Safe? Was he safe?_ He didn’t know. On one hand, this was Wooyoung and Yeosang. They were his friends. He trusted them. Or… he _had_ trusted them. They’d saved him from the Vipers, but they were mafia too. Didn’t that make them just as bad? They were criminals, they were _killers_ -

_Oh god, Wooyoung and Yeosang were mafia and they’d killed three people in front of him, oh god…_

“Easy, San. Deep breaths, ok?” said Wooyoung. “Just focus on breathing. With me, alright? In… and out… in… and out. That’s it, good.”

Following Wooyoung’s exaggerated breaths, San managed to stop himself hyperventilating. He was still shaking though, half of his brain screaming at him to push Wooyoung away and run before it was too late, and the other half still shut down in denial.

Yeosang reappeared with a soft woven blanket in his hands, which he wrapped around San’s shoulders carefully.

“There you go,” he said soothingly. “It’s ok. You’re safe here, San, I promise.”

They were treating him for shock, San realised. These were the same steps he was trained to take when dealing with a traumatised civilian. He never thought _he’d_ be the one in this position, a police officer who’d needed to be rescued, the one who needed to be calmed and comforted, and by _criminals_ , no less. How ironic. How _pathetic_.

Yeosang set down a cloth and a bowl of warm water on the coffee table.

“I called Jongho,” he murmured to Wooyoung, quietly enough that San had to strain to hear. “He and the others will be here in ten to help get rid of… everything down there.”

 _The bodies,_ thought San. _The blood._

Wooyoung nodded and touched a hand to Yeosang’s cheek briefly, then Yeosang was hurrying away again and Wooyoung was wringing excess water from the washcloth and leaning forward. San flinched away automatically and Wooyoung paused, a look in his eyes which San couldn’t quite interpret. Pain? Pity? Guilt?

“I won’t hurt you, San. I promise.”

Sam forced himself to stay still while Wooyoung cleaned his face and neck. He’d startled at first when the cloth came away bright red, until he remembered how he’d been splattered with blood when Wooyoung stabbed the man holding him. He watched Wooyoung now, face showing nothing but care and concern and hands so very gentle as he wiped away the last traces of blood, and tried to reconcile him with the furious man who’d plunged a knife into a man’s neck only minutes ago.

He’d readjusted his torn shirt, so the compass tattoo was no longer on display, but the damage was done. San knew it was there, knew what it meant.

Wooyoung finished and dropped the cloth back into the bowl, the water now stained pink.

“I’ll be back in a second, ok?” he said, getting to his feet.

San nodded dumbly, watching Wooyoung leave with the bowl. He could hear both of them moving around in the kitchen behind him, but couldn’t seem to make himself move, even just to turn his head.

 _Run!_ screamed a voice in his head. _Now, while they’re both busy! Get out of here!_

San blocked it out. He didn’t want to move right now, didn’t want to think. All he wanted to do was sit still, staring blankly at the carpet, and maybe everything else would just go away and leave him alone. He didn’t want to deal with the situation he was in, didn’t want to process it.

Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

Yeosang returned and sat beside San on the sofa, pressing a warm mug into his hands.

“Drink this,” he urged. “It’ll help.”

San obeyed without thinking, then blinked in surprise at how good it was. Hot chocolate, rich, sweet and delicious.

Right.

Yeosang was good at making drinks, because he was a barista, in the bakery downstairs that seemed so _very_ far away right now, almost a different world.

San stared up at Yeosang, sweet Yeosang who drew a heart in San’s coffee the other day, and blushed when San told him his hair was pretty. Yeosang who just shot two men dead with perfect, practiced aim, not even flinching when they fell.

How were those memories of the same person?

San’s hands began to shake again, and he quickly took a deep drink of the hot chocolate so it wouldn’t slosh over the edge of the cup. Yeosang nodded encouragingly.

“Make sure you finish that, yeah? It’ll help,” he said again.

Strangely, he was right. San felt calmer the more he drank, the tension slowly draining from his body. Before long, the empty cup felt oddly heavy in his hands, and Yeosang quickly took it back before San dropped it.

San’s eyelids were starting to feel heavy. He blinked a few times, struggling to keep them open.

“That’s it, Sannie,” said Wooyoung – _when had he come back from the kitchen?_ – as San slumped back against the couch cushions. “You can relax now. You’re safe with us. Just rest.”

 _Rest… yes._ He would. He wanted to rest. Wanted to sleep.

San’s eyes slid shut again. This time, they didn’t reopen.

When San woke, it was from a deep, comfortable, dreamless sleep. The bed he was lying in was warm and soft, and he felt wonderfully well-rested, in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks. He sighed in satisfaction, turning over and snuggling into the pale blue pillow.

_…wait._

Blue? All of San’s bedding was plain white, not blue and patterned with little flowers.

San’s eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright.

_This wasn’t his bed._

The events of last night crashed over San like a tidal wave, and he barely suppressed a panicked shout, kicking off the covers and struggling out of bed and to his feet.

He spun around, taking in his surroundings. He was in a small room, just enough space for a bed, a nightstand, a chair and a chest of drawers, and he was alone. He quickly spotted his own jacket draped over the chair, and his shoes set beneath it. Other than that, he was still dressed in his clothes from the previous night.

He had no memory of the little room, no recollection of being put to bed. How the hell had he gone to sleep after everything that happened? He’d been too stressed to sleep properly for days, how had he suddenly… _oh_.

San suddenly remembered the hot chocolate Yeosang had pressed into his hands, how insistent he’d been that San drank all of it. He’d been drugged.

San shook his head numbly and looked around the room again.

What did they want from him now? Why had they drugged him?

Was he a prisoner here?

No, you didn’t tuck prisoners into bed in your guest room. And surely if they wanted to harm him, they would have done so already.

He remembered the cold fury in their eyes when the Vipers had had him.

_“Get your hands off him.” “He’s ours.”_

What did they mean by that? Some traitorous part of San shivered with delight at the idea of them being possessive of him, but he stamped it down immediately. This wasn’t some game. The pair had killed three men last night, because of him. They weren’t who he’d thought they were. They were dangerous.

But _he_ wasn’t who _they’d_ thought he was either. And if they were mafia, that made a detective like San their enemy.

A sudden bolt of fear ran through him. What if they’d somehow figured out that he was police? He didn’t think he’d brought anything incriminating with him, but his presence alone was suspicious. He’d been lurking in the alley at 2 in the morning, after all. Was that why they’d drugged him, so they could interrogate him later?

He thought of the way they’d tried to shield him from the blood and violence, ushering him away from the scene and the bodies, “ _don’t look at them San, just focus on us”_. They’d clearly still thought he was just a civilian then, that he’d be traumatised by the killings and the gore. That wasn’t to say that they hadn’t started suspecting him later though. And if they had figured it out, San was in grave danger.

Just then, a noise cut through San’s thoughts and he paused. Vaguely, he thought he’d heard… yes, there were faint voices coming from behind the door. Light on his feet, San crept closer and pressed his ear against the wood. It sounded like Wooyoung was talking.

“…thought he’d be awake by now. Maybe we should check on him again.”

“I only gave him a small dose,” came Yeosang’s voice. “It only should’ve knocked him out for four hours tops. He must just be exhausted.”

“Poor San,” said Wooyoung. “I think he’s been overworking himself at that editing job. He’s seemed so stressed recently. I mean, who goes out for a walk at 2am?”

San felt a little of the tension leave his body. So they still didn’t suspect that he was police. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d left his badge at home last night.

“He must’ve been sleeping badly,” agreed Yeosang. “And then he had to get dragged into this mess. This is the last thing he needs right now, he doesn't deserve this.”

“I just wish we’d woken up sooner,” said Wooyoung, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “Wish we’d gotten to him faster. Those bastards were _this_ close to killing him, just for walking past at the wrong time.”

“The main thing is that we made it in time,” said Yeosang firmly. “They’re dead, and San’s safe now. There’s no point dwelling on what-ifs.”

“Yeah,” said Wooyoung quietly. “Guess you’re right.”

There was a pause, punctuated by some sounds like plates being moved around.

“I’ll give it five more minutes, then I’m going to try waking him up,” said Wooyoung eventually. “Just to check that nothing’s wrong.”

“Yeah, that’s probably best.”

Another pause.

“…I wish we hadn’t had to drug him in the first place.”

“You saw how upset and out of it he was,” said Yeosang. “We couldn’t have left him alone like that, and we needed all hands on deck to get the clean-up done before someone called the cops.”

“Yeah, I know…” Wooyoung hesitated, and when he spoke again it was so quiet San almost missed it. “He saw us kill three people, Sangie. What if he hates us now?”

There was a heavy pause, then Yeosang sighed.

“Then he hates us,” he said simply. “Better than him being dead.”

Maybe he would have heard more, but unfortunately San chose that moment to shift his weight slightly, and the floorboard under his left foot let out a loud creak. San froze, heart hammering in his chest. On the other side of the door, the conversation cut off abruptly.

“…San?” called Wooyoung’s voice, loud in contrast to their hushed tones before. “Is that you? Are you up?”

There was no point pretending. Steeling himself, San pushed open the door.

Yeosang and Wooyoung were seated at the table in the main room, empty dishes beside them, clearly having just finished eating. Both smiled at him as he hesitated in the doorway.

“San,” said Yeosang, rising to his feet. “Good to see you’re awake.”

He pulled out a spare chair, beckoning San over.

“Why don’t you sit down? I think we all need to talk.”


	8. Chapter 8

San sat down slowly, feeling like he shouldn’t make any sudden moves around people he now knew were practiced killers, no matter how welcoming their smiles. From the conversation he’d overheard, it didn’t seem like they were planning on hurting him, but that didn’t mean he could let his guard down.

Wooyoung hurried into the kitchen, returning quickly with a plate of food.

“We saved some breakfast for you,” he said, setting it down in front of San.

It looked delicious, like everything Wooyoung made, but after last night San couldn’t bring himself to eat it.

“…Thank you,” he muttered, not quite meeting Wooyoung’s eye.

He made no move to pick up the chopsticks. Hurt flickered over Wooyoung’s face, but it was quickly replaced by resignation and he slid back into his own seat.

“How are you feeling?” asked Yeosang tentatively.

“Fine,” said San, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Yeosang sighed.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I want to start by saying that we’re sorry, San. We never wanted you to get caught up in any of this. We’re sorry you were in danger, and we’re sorry you had to see what you did.”

San nodded cautiously, but didn’t speak yet. It was nice of them to apologise, but he wasn't going to forgive them until he knew more about what they were apologising _for_.

“So, we’re guessing,” said Yeosang, with a glance at Wooyoung, “That you were out for a walk and you saw some suspicious-looking men hanging around our shop, maybe looking like they were going to break in or something? So you thought you’d see what was happening, got noticed by them and grabbed. Is that right?”

San had to prevent himself from openly sighing in relief. He'd thought that he’d have to justify his presence in the alley that night, and to have an excuse handed to him like this was ideal.

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty much.”

Wooyoung leaned forward, resting on his elbows.

“How much did you get from what those men were saying? Do you know who they were? Who…” he hesitated, “Who _we_ are?”

San pondered how to respond. On one hand, civilians wouldn’t know as much about the city’s criminal underworld groups, maybe only hearing about them on the news from time to time. On the other hand, he didn’t want to play dumber than he needed to, because he knew it was all too easy to slip up when pretending to know less than he actually did.

“I… kind of thought they might be mafia?” he said carefully. “They kept mentioning a bigger boss, and they had these matching tattoos. And they checked my shoulder too when they caught me, like they were looking for some sort of gang symbol.”

Both nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Wooyoung. “They belong to one mafia group, and we’re… I guess you’d say we’re _linked_ to another one.”

“Linked?” echoed San.

“Well, we’re not normally involved in any actual conflicts like last night,” Wooyoung elaborated. “We’re more like… outer circle, rather than full-time gang members.”

“The most important thing to clarify,” cut in Yeosang, “is that we meant what we said last night. You’re safe with us, San, and we’re not going to do anything to hurt you. We’re not like those other men – we’re not going to kill you for knowing too much.”

San nodded slowly. So they weren’t _immediately_ involved in KQ, even if they did have the tattoo. That made sense, given that running the bakery would be a time-consuming job. It was a relief to hear outright that they weren’t planning to kill him, even if he couldn’t entirely take their word for it at the moment.

“But like, having said that,” said Wooyoung, almost as though he could read San’s mind, “We’re not asking you to just magically trust us. Last night must’ve been a pretty bad shock, and we won’t blame you if you’re not comfortable around us right now.”

His voice caught as he spoke, like it hurt him to say it. Yeosang shifted slightly, and San suspected he’d put a hand on Wooyoung’s knee under the table.

“You must have a lot of questions, San,” said Yeosang. “And we owe you answers. We won’t be able to tell you everything, some things are safer kept a secret, for us _and_ for you. But any questions that we can answer, we will.”

San let out a slow breath. Where to begin?

“…What is it you guys actually do then?” he asked. “If you’re, y’know,” he waved a hand vaguely, “sort of in the mafia?”

“All you need to know is that we help out with shipments and transfers sometimes,” said Yeosang. “Like a supervised drop-off and pick-up point.”

San sighed internally. He’d been hoping for a bit more, but they were being careful.

“And what happens now?” he asked cautiously. “I mean, am I allowed to just go home?”

The pair exchanged an uncomfortable glance, and San felt his heart sink.

“It’s… not so much that you’re not _allowed_ to,” said Yeosang carefully. “But… well, it might be best if you stayed here with us for at least a couple more days. Just for your own safety, until we know the coast is clear.”

“Are you saying I could be in danger?” asked San, frowning.

“Hopefully not,” said Wooyoung. “The men last night… a couple of our friends got rid of the bodies in another gang’s territory. There’s a strong grudge between them, so hopefully they’ll get blamed instead of us. But until we know for sure, we’re all going be laying low.”

“If we _are_ suspected,” said Yeosang, “The other mafia group might have people watching this shop. We don’t want anyone deciding you’re suspicious and following you home. It’d only be a couple of days, three at most, just until we get the all-clear from Jong- er, that is, from our contact.”

“We’re not going to force you to stay,” Wooyoung added earnestly. “You’re free to leave if you really want. We just don’t think you should risk it if you don’t have to.”

San deflated slightly, hating that they had a point. He didn’t want to stay here, he wanted to get out, wanted to run home and hide under his covers. He needed to update his case notes – and update his whole _mindset,_ for that matter, and he needed the time and space to do so. If he stayed with Wooyoung and Yeosang, he was going to have to be on high alert the whole time. Sure, he might be in danger if he went outside, but he’d be in danger here too if they found out who he really was. Hell, he could be in danger even if they didn’t – they were criminals, _mafia_ , and he still didn’t know what their intentions were.

Still, they were right – if stepping outside could mean getting a target painted on his back by the Vipers, staying here was his best bet, like it or not. And hopefully, staying with them would give him the chance to find out more about KQ and its operations, even if they wouldn’t tell him directly.

“I don’t want to impose though, you’ve already done enough for me,” he said half-heartedly.

Wooyoung shook his head quickly.

“You wouldn’t be imposing, San,” he said. “We’d feel much better knowing you were safe.”

“Ok then,” said San. “Ok. I… I guess I’ll stay. Thank you.”

Both of them smiled at him, clearly relieved. San thought back to the earlier conversation he’d overheard, their behaviour the previous night. What did it all mean? Did they really care about him that much, or would they do this for anyone innocent who was in danger?

“Anything else?” asked Yeosang after a moment. “Any more questions?”

_Lots_ , thought San. He wanted to ask so many things – how they hid their dealings, who their contacts were, if and how Hongjoong and Seonghwa fit into all this. 

But all of those were most certainly _business-related_ , not something a normal civilian would be interested in finding out. He was unlikely to get any answers, and he didn’t want to draw any suspicion by asking in the first place.

Abruptly, Yeosang’s cold fury and Wooyoung’s heated words from the night before sprang unbidden back to San’s mind. He knew he shouldn’t ask about it, knew he should leave well enough alone. Things were complicated enough as they were without bringing up more issues. But after all the care they’d shown him, the curiosity was burning in his chest and he just _had_ to know.

“Before, when the other men were threatening me…” San licked his lips, unsure of how to put it. “You said… you told them I was _yours_. What did you mean?”

Wooyoung grimaced, and Yeosang’s eyes narrowed, before he leant forward and cuffed Wooyoung over the back of the head.

“Ow!” said Wooyoung, looking at Yeosang reproachfully. “Hey, look, I didn’t mean to, ok? It just slipped out!” 

Yeosang shook his head exasperatedly, and San noticed his cheeks had turned pink again.

“I… well… look, this is awkward,” he said, not quite making eye contact with San. “Um… you’d probably kind of figured that we like you, right? I mean, unless we’ve both been hugely misreading everything for the past few weeks.”

“We were all flirting, right?” put in Wooyoung. “You knew we were interested in you? Like, for a poly relationship?”

_Poly._

_Polyamorous._

The word hit San like a truck.

_Holy shit._

“I… I wasn’t sure,” said San numbly. “I was… a bit confused.”

“Oh! Well, sorry for not making that clearer,” said Wooyoung. “And look, just to be clear, we’re not expecting you to feel the same way, especially not now. Please don’t feel pressured, alright?”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Yeosang added. “We’re not expecting any kind of answer, or for you to tell us how you feel. After last night… well, everything’s kind of fucked up right now. Take your time, ok?”

“And I’m sorry for getting ahead of myself last night,” added Wooyoung. “I didn’t mean to... I don’t know, to imply we have any claim over you or anything. I just wanted them away from you.”

“He gets protective,” said Yeosang, with the air of someone who knew from experience.

Wooyoung shot Yeosang a look, but quickly turned back to San.

“But yeah,” he said. “Way too soon. My bad.”

San could’ve cried from the irony of it all. If he’d been told all this just 24 hours ago, he would’ve been over the moon. He needn’t have been worried at _all_ about whether or not they liked him, why they were both flirting with him, what he meant to them if they were already together. They _both_ liked him, both wanted to date him, both wanted him in their relationship. It was everything he’d wanted, everything he’d dreamed of, too good to be true.

He stared at the two of them – eyes that sparkled when he joked with them, lips he’d fantasised about kissing, _hands that he’d seen stab and shoot with practiced ease –_ and fought down a hysterical laugh.

How could life be this cruel? Like a waiter who’d just served up a feast to a starving man, then told him “by the way, it’s probably poisoned” before he could so much as take a bite.

What the _hell_ was he supposed to do now?

Yeosang glanced at his phone and nudged Wooyoung.

“Woo, it’s 10.30,” he said.

Wooyoung startled. 

“Crap,” he said. “We’ve gotta go open up shop. Uh, San, you’ve got free run of the place, ok? Feel free to use the TV, go through the bookcase, any of that. Wifi password’s on the fridge.”

“And feel free to come downstairs to the café too,” added Yeosang. “You can pick a table and spend as much time as you like, ok? You can have any drinks or sweets you want, on the house.”

“Uh… right,” mumbled San. “Thanks.”

The two were already on their feet and heading for the door, Yeosang tying back his hair and Wooyoung tucking in his shirt as they went.

A few moments later, San was alone again. He stared around the small apartment blankly, mind feeling like mush from everything he’d just learned.

_What the hell had he gotten himself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh so much dialogue, this took me SO LONG to write! I’m still not entirely happy with it, but I need to move on so here you go.


	9. Chapter 9

That night found San sitting cross-legged on the guest bed, staring down at his phone.

He knew what he had to do. So why couldn’t he do it?

He was a detective who’d stumbled across serious mafia activity, had access to their home and ample proof to get them convicted. All that was left was for him to call the station for backup and have them arrested.

Easy. Mission complete.

Even if the killings in the alleyway had been successfully covered up and all evidence removed, he still had them on association with mafia, thanks to the tattoos, and also possession of unregistered firearms and other illegal materials.

Feeling weirdly guilty despite the fact that he was just doing his job, San had snooped through the various rooms of the apartment that morning, once the pair had left to go downstairs for work. He’d found Rohypnol under the kitchen sink, likely what Yeosang had spiked his hot chocolate with to send him to sleep. There was a knife in Wooyoung’s bedside drawer, a gun strapped to the underside of the bed on Yeosang’s side. Their wardrobe had a false back hiding a few more weapons and spare ammunition. There was also a notebook filled with indecipherable writing, probably some kind of code. San had examined it for as long as he dared, but had been unable to make head nor tail of it without the proper resources. Still, he could venture a guess that it contained contact details of other KQ members and other such information.

Either way, the evidence was all there, easily enough to put them both in jail.

_So why couldn’t he do it? Why couldn’t he turn them in?_

San ran a hand through his hair and tugged at it frustratedly. It was a question that, deep down, he already knew the answer to. Ridiculous though it was, his feelings for them hadn’t changed.

How could he convince himself to stop thinking of them like that when they were still… _them?_

Yes, the kitchen had Rohypnol hidden under the sink, but it also had post-it notes the pair had left for each other, often with drawings of a little blobby cartoon character with a flower on its head, saying things like ‘stop leaving the milk out you dimwit!’ and with scribbled replies like ‘you know you love me’. 

When San had risen from checking out the gun under the bed, he’d come face-to-face with a framed photo on the bedside table showing Wooyoung and Yeosang, both looking younger and with shorter hair, standing outside the bakery. The door and sign looked freshly painted, and Yeosang was pointing proudly to the ‘Open’ card hanging in the window, while Wooyoung hugged him from behind, eyes scrunched shut and mouth stretched into an impossibly wide grin. San had smiled involuntarily at the sight before he caught himself.

How was he supposed to think of them as bad people when they were so clearly full of love – for each other, for their little café, and now even for San himself?

Now that he knew the full situation, that they had a happy, loving relationship and liked him enough to want him to join them, all their behaviour made so much more sense. It was so easy to see they cared, for each other and for him.

It made San’s heart hurt, because under different circumstances, in another life perhaps, the three of them could have been so happy together.

At the end of the day, Wooyoung and Yeosang had returned to the apartment, divesting themselves of aprons and hair ties and flopping down on the couch tiredly.

San knew they both took breaks throughout the day, but they’d stayed downstairs this time, presumably to give San more space. He was grateful for the privacy – he’d needed it, and not just to search the apartment. He’d spent a good portion of the day simply trying to get his head around the overwhelming events from last night, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t cried.

The pair had greeted him with tentative smiles, waved off his nervous offer to help with dinner, and soon all three were sitting down to eat.

San had been expecting the meal to be like breakfast, awkward and stilted. Instead, it was surprisingly normal, but for some reason this was even more unnerving. They weren’t flirting like usual, but they were still friendly and welcoming and so _easy_ to talk to.

Everything had changed, but at the same time, nothing had.

There had been moments, seated around the table for dinner, where San had almost forgotten the circumstances and found himself relaxing. He’d laugh genuinely at a joke, or chime into the conversation as naturally as he had in the coffeeshop, then catch himself and withdraw again. It was maddening.

They were _enemies_ now. He felt like he needed some reminder, another glimpse of their other sides, or he’d keep on forgetting that they _weren’t_ just a pair of sweet café owners, and it was stupid to still be thinking of them like that.

At the end of the meal, San had thrown caution to the wind and asked the question which had been on his mind for most of the day.

“How did you end up in the mafia?”

The pair had paused, clearly not expecting the question.

“I… sorry if that’s too personal,” San began quickly, losing his nerve, but Yeosang had shaken his head.

“No,” he’d said. “It’s not something we talk about much, but… it’s fine.”

So they told him.

They told him how Wooyoung’s parents had been members of KQ, killed in a shoot-out when he was fifteen. How KQ had rallied to give him a job with them and keep him out of the foster system when the family home was sold and none of his other relatives would take him in.

They told him how Yeosang’s mother left and his father spent all their money on alcohol, swinging between violent outbursts and vacant stupors which could last for days at a time. How at fifteen, he’d finally had enough of the fear and neglect, and run away. How months later Wooyoung had stumbled across him, nearly frozen to death on the city streets in mid-winter, and brought him back to the nearest safehouse, begged the boss to take him in as well.

How they’d clicked instantly, bonded over the next few years of running drugs and intel, watching each other’s backs and keeping each other safe. How they were good enough at their jobs, but craved more than anything else the luxury of a simple, normal life they’d both been denied.

How they’d used to lie together in bed at night and whisper about the café they’d like to own one day.

“It was… I don’t know, it was just an idea,” said Yeosang. “A dream. Not something I ever really thought would happen. But then one day Wooyoung came home saying he’d found cooking classes at the local community college and wanted to give it a go.”

“We started putting aside money,” said Wooyoung. “Cooking classes for me, a barista course for Sangie. Started looking at business management and food handling certificates and stuff.

“Our boss got wind of it, and called us in to talk. We thought he was going to be mad that we wanted to step down, but instead he just told us they’d been looking to start up some sort of inconspicuous business to use as a front, in one of the quieter neighbourhoods.”

Then he said he’d suggested Wooyoung and Yeosang take on this role, offering to buy them the café in return for their continued service in letting the mafia use it for their own needs.

They’d leapt at the chance and hadn’t looked back.

Now, sitting in his room, San wanted to tear his hair out in frustration.

When he’d asked how they’d gotten into the mafia business, he’d been hoping for reasons that would make it easier to want to distance himself from them. Something related to greed, something to do with wanting money or drugs or power. At the very _least_ , he’d hoped for a refusal to answer, which would mean the reason wasn’t something they wanted him to know.

Instead, all he’d been left with was the mental image of two fifteen-year-old boys, alone and unloved, clinging to each other and to what seemed like the only chance they had of survival at the time.

How could San possibly judge them for that?

_They could be lying,_ he reasoned. _They could be trying to get your sympathy. You can’t trust criminals._

However, when he remembered the photo on Yeosang’s bedside table, of the café’s opening day, he knew the truth couldn’t be far off what they’d told him.

…And yet, that still didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. Outer ring or not, they were still mafia, and clearly willing to kill.

This café, this life, was everything they’d dreamed of having, and as a police officer who knew their secret, San posed a direct threat to that, even if they didn’t realise it yet. Their kindness would likely vanish if they knew.

And even knowing all of this, San still couldn’t get rid of his affection for them.

_I can’t turn them in,_ he decided eventually. _But I can’t stay around them either._ _As soon as I can get out of here safely, I need to get far away and never come back._

He didn’t know what he’d do after that – whether he could go back to work without any results, or if he even _wanted_ to, knowing what he now did – but that was a problem for later.

For now, San set his phone aside on the bedside table, pulled the covers over himself, and went to sleep.

The next day, San ate breakfast with the pair, then trailed after them to the café. Yeosang brought him his usual coffee without him having to even ask, and still smiled sweetly at San, but there were no little compliments or lingering touches.

San told himself sharply that this was a blessing and not something to be disappointed over. He needed above all else to be keeping a clear head while he was stuck here. He needed to remember that these were the last days he’d spend in their company, and any affection would be pointless now anyway.

“There’s a meeting tomorrow,” Yeosang informed him quietly. “A few of our, uh… colleagues are going to drop in and give us a report on how things are going with the other mafia group. Hopefully, they’ll give us the all-clear and you can get home.”

San nodded, grateful for the news, and told himself the pain that lanced through his chest at the thought of their time together drawing to a close was just a stupid overreaction.

The day passed at an excruciating crawl. Without report to do or surveillance work, San found himself at a loose end. He’d brought down a book from the couple’s bookcase upstairs, but it was difficult to concentrate on the words.

It didn’t help that it was a busier day than usual for the café. Yeosang and Wooyoung still stopped to chat to San now and again, but were quickly pulled away again. For the most part, San was simply left with his own thoughts. It was a relief when the day finally drew to a close, and the three traipsed back upstairs.

That night found all three in the main room, Wooyoung cooking, Yeosang sitting at the kitchen table, and San perched awkwardly on the couch.

“We need some music,” announced Wooyoung as he set about pulling ingredients from the fridge and piling them on the kitchen counter. “Any requests?”

Yeosang shrugged noncommittally from where he was hunched over his phone, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I’m happy with whatever,” said San quietly.

Wooyoung nodded, patting down his pockets, then he paused and screwed his face up.

“Ah, damn it,” he whined. “I left my phone down in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get it!” offered San quickly, rising from the couch.

“Thanks Sannie, you’re an angel!” called Wooyoung, shooting him a beaming smile. “It’s probably on the shelf above the main sink!”

San nodded and headed for the apartment door.

He hadn’t really seen much of the kitchen, he realised as he made his way down the narrow staircase. It was the only part of the building he hadn’t had a chance to search. Of course, doing so would be pointless now, since he’d decided he wouldn’t be turning them in anyway. Still curiosity niggled at him.

A quick look around couldn’t hurt, could it?

Reaching the base of the stairs, he felt along the wall until he found the switch, and harsh fluorescent light flooded the empty kitchen, reflecting off the stainless steel benchtops. San’s footsteps echoed on the hard floor as he walked into the middle of the room and turned in a circle, taking it in.

He quickly spotted the phone, right where Wooyoung had said it would be. San fetched it down from the shelf and switched it on out of curiosity, but was unsurprised to find it was locked.

The lock-screen was a picture of Yeosang that looked like it had been taken a second before he sneezed, a dopey cross-eyed and open-mouthed expression that made San snort. He wondered if Yeosang had an equally unflattering picture of Wooyoung on his own phone, and decided that he probably did.

Glancing around the barren kitchen, San looked for anything which appeared out of place or strange. To be honest, he didn’t really know what was normal and what wasn’t in a commercial kitchen, but he felt like he should at least check.

Various pots, pans and baking trays sat on the shelves, and utensils hung from a rack underneath. The ovens were empty and silent. Aprons hung from pegs by the back door. A set of knives glinted in their block on the nearest bench.

Big bins sat in one corner, filled with flour and sugar. They seemed to be colour-coded, red for three different types of sugar, yellow for the two filled with flour, and another group of five blue ones sitting away from the rest. ‘Powdered sugar’ read the labels, when he looked closer.

San approached the bins slowly. Why did they have so many filled with sugar? He’d thought most cake recipes called for more flour than sugar, and while there were probably exceptions to this, did it really warrant keeping nearly double the amount?

He lifted the lid of the nearest blue bin. Crouching down, he examined the contents more closely. Inside was a mound of white. It looked innocent enough.

Carefully, he took a pinch and rubbed it between his fingers, noting the texture, the way it clung. He smelled it gingerly. Not even remotely sweet.

This wasn’t powdered sugar.

It was cocaine.

San took an automatic step back and stared down at the bins, wide-eyed. There was so _much_ here. This amount had to be worth a fortune. How many hours had he spent sitting just a short distance away from this massive stash, staring resolutely in the wrong direction? All the time spent searching for clues, when the answer was just through the swing doors from the very beginning.

“San? Is everything alright?”

Yeosang’s soft voice from the kitchen door made San’s heart stop. His arm shot out automatically to close the bin lid, but there was no time before the door swung open.

"You've been down here a while, couldn't you find the phone?"

Sanding in the doorway, Yeosang looked between the bin with its lid ajar and San, frozen and red-handed. He frowned. 

_This is it,_ thought San, panic crawling up his throat. _I’ve done it now. He’s going to figure out that I was snooping for clues and realise I’m a detective and then they’re going to kill me._

He scanned his surroundings and his eyes found the block of knives. He could reach them, if he was quick. But… then what? Stab Yeosang? He couldn’t picture himself doing that, even in self-defence. Maybe just the threat of a knife would be enough to hold the other man off until San could get out the door and onto the street, assuming he didn’t have his gun on him. He felt his knees wobble. Even if he had the chance to run, would he make it that far?

“San,” said Yeosang carefully, “What are you doing over there?”

“I’m sorry,” San blurted, “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have…”

San could hear his voice crack, feel tears welling in his eyes, knew he must look and sound pathetic. He couldn’t help it though – he was terrified.

_I don’t want to fight you. I don’t know if I can._

Yeosang’s eyes widened and he hurried forward.

“Hey, shh, no, it’s ok!”

_Go for the knives, before it’s too late!_ screamed San’s training as the other man approached, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, and let himself be pulled into Yeosang’s arms instead.

And… that was all that happened. Yeosang hugged him. No threats. No shouting. No weapons. He just… held San while he shook, struggling to get his breathing under control and hold back the threatening tears. It was a little stiff, something told him Yeosang didn’t initiate hugs very often, but it was still oddly comforting. He patted San’s back awkwardly and murmured ‘it’s ok, you’re fine’, while San fought down the adrenaline rush that was apparently no longer needed.

“So you figured it out, did you?” asked Yeosang after a moment.

There was hardly any point denying it now, was there?

“Um… the sugar… isn’t sugar, is it?” said San, glad to hear his voice had stopped shaking.

“Yeah, it’s drugs,” Yeosang admitted with a half-shrug. “Most of what we keep here for our boss is drugs of some sort.”

“So those guys from before…” San continued carefully, “Yunho and Mingi…?”

“Yes, they transport it.” Yeosang nodded. “You catch on quick, huh?”

It was a harmless enough statement, but San cringed. Yeosang pulled back to look at him, dropping his arms but staying close.

“It’s ok, San. It’s our fault you’re here in the first place, and it’s only natural to be curious,” he said soothingly. “I’d prefer you hadn’t found out, but I’m not going to get mad at you for that. I mean look, if anything I’m actually kind of impressed you worked it out that quickly.”

San let out a giggle at that. It was half-hysterical – _thanks, it’s because I’ve been trained to catch people like you_ – but Yeosang just gave a small smile, seeming relieved.

“In all seriousness though,” said Yeosang, “It’s really better if you don’t go snooping too much. We don’t want you getting caught up in this any more than necessary. The less you know, the safer you are.”

San nodded, and was suddenly aware of how close Yeosang was, when their noses almost brushed.

“We just want you to be safe, ok?” said Yeosang softly. “We… we care about you.”

Gently, he brushed some loose hair back from San’s forehead, tucking it behind his ear. His eyes flickered down to San’s lips, and San caught his breath. Yeosang’s eyes met his again, narrowed slightly as if searching for something.

Once again, San was struck by how beautiful he was. And that was still the only thought in his head as Yeosang’s eyes slid shut, as he closed the short distance between them and pressed his lips to San’s.

It was a gentle kiss, almost shy. His lips were warm, they were soft, and they were gone again far too quickly.

San opened his eyes and stared, shocked, lips still parted and feeling like the breath had been stolen from his lungs despite the kiss only lasting a few seconds.

Yeosang stared back, eyes round, like he was just as surprised as San. Then, abruptly, he was pulling back, turning away and striding for the exit.

By the time San had processed what just happened, the door had already slammed shut behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, updating every few days was fun for a while, but it turned out to really not be sustainable over the holiday season, so the pace of the last few updates is definitely going to be a bit slower I’m afraid! This chapter in particular was a very difficult one to write, hope it turned out ok lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated if you enjoyed the story! (comments in particular are scientifically proven to make me write faster)


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